Visits with my 13-year-old niece, Kaitie, tend to be enlightening, and not just about what’s going on with teenagers these days. When she comes to Austin, I always try to plan some new experiences for her and often wind up learning something new myself.

On one of her recent visits, I took Kaitie, who’s a budding artist, to a small gallery on West Sixth called Haven, which offers a wonderful selection of artworks, from sculpture to jewelry. (The Haven’s self-description on its Web site is “an eclectic mix of two- and three-dimensional fine art and fine craft.”) We were both entranced with the array of large, colorful, freeform glass pieces and some amazing “woven glass,” gently curving sculptures that look like pieces of fabric, with irregular strips of glass forming the warp and weft.  I fell in love with a periwinkle-blue glass bust that featured a silhouette of a face inside. Kaitie’s favorites were a group of bird sculptures, made of antique odds and ends, brass, and other metals (not surprising, since she was sketching birds a lot at the time). Some of the items here are costly, but many others are surprisingly affordable considering the excellent quality—as low as $25. And we’re talking handmade, one-of-a-kind pieces of art. Something to keep in mind for holiday shopping.

 The owner of the shop, Mindi Partee, answered our questions, gave us a minitour, and told us about some of the artists, many of whom are from Texas, which I always find appealing. I don’t know if Kaitie was inspired, but I certainly was, if only to add a few special things to my wish list. Haven Gallery & Gifts is at 1122 W. Sixth St.; 512/477-2700; www,havengalleryaustin.com.

I thought I’d adjusted to the lack of bluebonnets this year—wildflower showings around Austin have been lackluster in general—but a trip to Houston earlier this week reminded me how much I count on seeing those broad swaths of blue plastered across the roadsides each spring. The state flower was in full force along US 290, especially in the Brenham area, and after the visual famine, the dramatic displays seemed more beautiful than ever. I think I actually said “Yes!” when I saw the first gorgeous patch. It suddenly felt like spring had really sprung. For more promising wildflower drives, see “Trips to Bountiful” in the April TH.

For the July 2007 issue of TH, I wrote a story about the hour-long Hidden Kitchens Texas (HKTX) radio special that debuted on NPR a couple of years ago. Produced by The Kitchen Sisters in collaboration with KUT in Austin and narrated by Willie Nelson, the program described under-the-radar kitchens across the state, from a Dallas gas station that serves great tacos to the NASA lab in Houston that develops space food. It was fun writing about that project, and now I have an update: At a S X SW party in Austin a few nights ago, Nikki Silvia and Davia Nelson, aka The Kitchen Sisters, launched a new book based on the rollicking audio program—complete with colorful photos and recipes.

Physically, Hidden Kitchens Texas is a small book—about six inches square and only 120 pages—but it’s packed with stories about “tiny kitchen cultures, big cooking rituals, unsung kitchen heroes, kitchen traditions on the verge of extinction,” and more. The chapter about Stubb’s Bar-B-Que, in which musicians Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Joe Ely, and Joe’s wife, Sharon, reminisce about the Lubbock roadhouse that was a gathering spot for the emerging Texas music scene in the 1970s, spurred a few memories of my own. I saw Joe Ely perform for the first time at the original Stubb’s in the early ’80s. I don’t remember the barbecue very well—the joint was so dark that you could hardly see your plate—but the music was great, and I’ve been a Joe Ely fan ever since.

It just so happens that the ongoing Hidden Kitchens series (which inspired the breakout Texas radio special, which, in turn, inspired the book) aired the Stubb’s segment on NPR this morning. You can listen to it, along with other installments in the series, and also order the new book, at the Kitchen Sisters’ Web site.

Driving back to Austin from South Texas a few Sundays ago, I decided on a whim to take the business route of US 183 through Gonzales. I hadn’t gone very far before I saw a mass of cars on my left, at the Matamoras Taco Hut, and others were still pulling in. All this activity in a small town, and on a Sunday, to boot, was intriguing. What did these diners know about this modest little restaurant that I didn’t?

  It was a little after noon, so I decided to give the MTH a try. The parking lot was crowded, so I parked on a shady side street. Walking back to the restaurant, I met a few customers who had picked up their food to go, and I solicited a quick recommendation. “Is the food good?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “Oh, yeah,” came the reply. “We eat here a lot.”

The dining room was full, so I opted for a take-out order myself: something called Robert’s Special, a soft taco featuring potato, sausage, and cheese. While waiting for my food, I surveyed the patrons, who appeared to be locals, some of whom had obviously just left church, judging by their dressy clothes (a few even wore hats). I struck up a conversation with an elderly couple seated at a table near the register. They were waiting for their Mexican plates, which they assured me would be well worth the wait. They invited me to sit with them until my order came, but my number was called before I could accept.

  When I returned to my car, I rolled down the windows and savored my soft taco, which was delicious; the tortilla was so tender that it had to have been made from scratch that morning. On my way out of town, I pulled over twice more, to window-shop at Discovery Architectural Antiques (an upscale salvage business with a huge inventory) and The Hearty Gourmet (a culinary shop). I’ll check out those sites the next time I’m through. I have a feeling there are at least two more small-town gems in Gonzales. 

I’ve driven my share of Texas roads over the years, but a recent trip to visit relatives in Silsbee and Center led me down some highways and byways I hadn’t traveled before. The trip was extra special because my mother and two sisters came along and as we drove, we took in the East Texas countryside together. We debated the identities of trees and flowers (we searched for dogwood, but saw only flowering pear), noted unfamiliar scenes like tree farms and logging areas, and speculated on the origin of town names like Fred, Carmona, and Moscow.  Other conversation focused on nostalgia—“Remember when Daddy would set trotlines in the river and bring home all those catfish?”—and family history—“Mother, tell us what it was like when you lived in Seattle and Daddy was out at sea during World War II.” Hardly earthshaking stuff, but there were few lags in the conversation. I realized later that we drove more than 600 miles and never once turned on the radio or played a CD. It was a low-tech trip, but highly satisfying.

The nearest groundhog may live hundreds of miles away, but I have my own tradition when it comes to predicting the end of winter. Every year around the first of February, I try to make a trip from Austin to South Texas and scope out signs of spring—especially wildflowers—along the way. It may seem early, but I’ve seen Indian paintbrush near my mother’s home between Edna and Victoria in late January.I followed the same routine this past weekend, and I have to say the initial results were disappointing. Thanks to the pervasive drought, the roadsides were mostly brown and dusty, even at my favorite wildflower-viewing spot—the intersection of US 183 and Texas 111, near Hochheim. At the height of the season, this multilevel vista is often covered with bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, and more, including a long-stemmed variety of winecups.But I continued watching, and sure enough, I noticed that some of the scrub brush along Texas 111 was beginning to leaf out. Driving through Yoakum, I saw another telltale sign—mounds of fresh earth in a couple of backyards, signaling the start of spring gardens. And on my way back, when I stopped in Luling to walk my dog, I came across a patch of dandelions and henbit. Okay, those plants are considered weeds and flower all year long, but they’re wildflowers, nonetheless.These hopeful signs remind me that despite the drought, despite the recession, spring will come. I’ll be watching. 

With a smaller-than-usual group at my mom’s house for Christmas this year—three whole people—we turned our back on a few old traditions—cooking a huge meal, spending hours in the kitchen, and snacking on leftovers—and instigated a new one: We went to the movies. Not just any old movie theater, but a small-town jewel that’s been around for more than six decades.

I’d wanted to check out the Ganado Cinema on one of my trips home (my mother lives near Edna, about nine miles away), but the weekends never seemed long enough. The prospect of a too-quiet holiday provided a perfect opportunity, and the family-friendly Marley and Me promised to please everyone. So, after a lovely meal at my cousin’s house, followed by a nap in the afternoon, we drove to downtown Ganado and took in the picture show. The verdict: It was fun! I recommend both the theater and the film (take tissues, though, if you’re a dog lover).

From parking (plenty of it, and close-by) to prices ($5 for adults/$3.50 for children, $1.50 for a large popcorn or a large drink, $1.75 for a hotdog), this little cinema was one pleasant surprise after another. The concession area sparkled, and the teenage employees were friendly and efficient. A full-length episode of The Little Rascals preceded the movie, along with previews of first-run movies. Though I’m not up on movie technology, the presentation itself (there’s a Digital Theater Surround sound system) seemed first-rate to me. -2164

A few cautions: Go early to get a good seat, or any seat, in some cases—the small theater often sells out. There are only two small restrooms (one women’s and one men’s), so plan accordingly. For upcoming features and more details, visit the theater’s Web site.

There’s nothing like Thanksgiving to bring out the traditionalist in each of us. Even trend-conscious teenagers and tech-savvy twentysomethings have their favorite foods and rituals, without which the holiday just wouldn’t be the same. One of the must-have dishes for my family on Turkey Day is cornbread dressing. Duh. No surprise there. Another traditional food is something my mother calls Jailhouse Rolls. When these get passed around, some of the college-age diners take two the first time, and then go for thirds when the next batch comes out of the oven. I’ve seen one young thing (who probably weighs less than a hundred pounds) eat four or five in one sitting.

After the meal, Mother divides up the leftover rolls (if any) and sends them home with various family members. The key word is sends. The driver of the car in which I was riding Thanksgiving night decided midway to Austin that it was time for a snack, pulled over and retrieved Grandma’s rolls from the trunk, and then proceeded to chow down as he drove on. No matter that they were stone-cold and lacked butter—those rolls never saw the lights of Austin.

Here’s the recipe for Jailhouse Rolls, compliments of my mother, Helen McKey. (She says the recipe was given to her about 15 years ago by my aunt Authemia McKey of Silsbee.) By the way, these light, homespun rolls go nicely with Christmas dinner, too.

Jailhouse Rolls
Plan to mix up the dough for these no-knead rolls a day ahead. If you like, save some dough (keep refrigerated and use within 10 days) so that you can have fresh rolls another time.

1 pkg. dry yeast
1 ½ c. lukewarm water
1 c. cooked, mashed potatoes (2 to 3 potatoes)
1 c. butter or margarine, melted and cooled
3 eggs
1 c. sugar
1 ½ tsp. salt
7 c. flour
Additional melted butter or margarine

Stir yeast into lukewarm water to dissolve, and set aside.

Combine potatoes, butter, eggs, sugar, and salt in a large bowl, and mix well. Using your hands, blend in flour. Add yeast mixture, and blend well. Place dough in a large, greased bowl, cover with a damp cloth, and place in the refrigerator overnight.

Turn dough out onto a floured surface, and roll out to ½-inch thickness; cut with a biscuit cutter. Place rolls on a greased baking pan, and brush tops with additional butter. Let rise for about 3 hours. Bake at 450º for 10 to 12 minutes, or until browned. Yield: about 3 dozen rolls.

My father was an avid gardener well into his 70s, and living in southeast Texas, always had both a spring and fall garden. When I was growing up, most of the vegetables we ate came from his garden, and he gave away almost as much to friends and neighbors. I enjoyed the tomatoes, corn, peas, green beans, potatoes, etc., but my favorite by far was okra, especially when my mother fried it. Many a supper ended with my brother and me squabbling over who should get the last serving of fried okra.

These days, I still go a little nuts when my mother serves fried okra, but when I’m at my own home, I try to avoid frying altogether. Thanks to an abundance of okra from my sister Laurie’s garden (the okra she planted in the spring is still producing in November), I’ve had a chance to experiment with different recipes for “oven-fried okra” in a quest to find a low-fat alternative for my favorite vegetable dish that’s still crisp and delicious. And by George, I think I’ve done it. I wish I could say I developed the winning formula myself, but I have to credit The Low-Fat Way to Cook (edited by Lisa A. Hooper, Oxmoor House, 1993) with the basic recipe. My adaptation follows.

If you don’t have an inside source for fresh okra, you’ll probably have to wait until next summer to try the recipe. That’s about the time I expect my brother to visit. I plan to make it for him then, and we’ll give it the real test. If it passes, those 12 servings will just about be enough for both of us.

Crispy, Oven-Fried Okra
If you have enough small pods, just wash them and trim the ends before dredging them in the cornmeal mixture. The results are sometimes referred to as “okra fingers.”

1 ¾ lb. fresh okra
1 ½ c. yellow cornmeal
¾ tsp. salt
¼ tsp. pepper
1 egg, lightly beaten
½ c. nonfat buttermilk (nonfat milk works, too)
olive oil (or cooking spray)

Wash okra; trim ends and cut into ½-inch pieces. Combine cornmeal, salt, and pepper in a medium bowl; stir well, and set aside.

Combine egg and buttermilk in a large bowl; stir in okra. Let stand 10 minutes. (Set a timer; it’s important to get this step right.)

“Drain” okra in a wire basket or coarse strainer, and dredge it in the cornmeal mixture. Place okra (separate the pieces) on a large baking sheet that has been sprayed lightly with olive oil. Bake at 450º for 40 minutes or until crisp, turning occasionally. Yield: 12 ½-cup servings.

Common wisdom says if you’re not originally from West Texas, you usually have to live there for a while to appreciate its attractions, but then you’re hooked for life. Having lived in Lubbock after growing up in southeast Texas, I can attest to that fact. In my case, it took almost a year, but I eventually came to treasure the flatlands and canyonlands that at first seemed so foreign to me. If I hadn’t moved to Austin in 1994 to work for Texas Highways, I’d probably still be there.

At any rate, I try to head west at least once a year to revisit old friends and embrace that endless, wide-open country. This summer, I bookended a trip to Lubbock with stops in Muleshoe and Slaton, small towns on US 84 that, coincidentally, are 84 miles apart.

My first stop was in Muleshoe, where I spent a couple of days with Aggie friends Bill and Alice Liles. As per our tradition, they took me to lunch at Leal’s Mexican Restaurant, a wonderful, family-run place that originated in Muleshoe in the 1950s. (The restaurant now has locations in Amarillo, Plainview, Henrietta, and Clovis, New Mexico.) I’m sure many travelers on US 84 stop and eat here, but the vibe is definitely local. Diners greet one another casually, often stopping at several tables on their way out to razz their neighbors or chat about the latest happenings around town. My favorite at Leal’s? The sour cream-chicken enchiladas, which Alice likes, too. Bill favors the fajita nachos.

After lunch, Alice and I headed to Carolyn’s Christmas Creations, where we looked at everything except Christmas decorations. Like many small-town gift stores, Carolyn’s has a wide range of merchandise, from jewelry and apparel to books and furniture with regional appeal. Our next stop was Muleshoe Metal Art, where I almost bought a jalapeño cooker, a neat contraption that allows you roast a dozen jalapeños at a time evenly over a hot grill. Mirror frames and plant stands also caught my eye. They’re all on my list for “later.”

We spent the rest of the day just visiting and touring Alice’s expansive cactus/rock garden, which now takes up at least a third of the yard. Not only does she know each plant by name, she can tell you where each rock came from—Austin, Kyle, Coleman, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada…the list goes on and on. She knows because she handpicked each one and placed it herself. (Bill lent a hand with the larger ones.) Besides rocks, cacti, succulents, grasses, and other low-maintenance plants, the garden features bleached skulls from hapless cows, deer, coyotes, and javelinas donated by friends; several large pots; weathered tree trunks; and a dolmen (a bench made with two or more upright stones capped by a horizontal stone). Alice invites viewers: The cactus garden is just east of the Muleshoe Country Club. For more about the Muleshoe area, see our March 2008 article “High Plains Montage” by Gerald McLeod.

I saved Slaton for the last leg of my trip, as it’s on the way to Austin. Here, I stopped at The Slaton Bakery, in hopes of nabbing a pig-in-the-blanket for the road. But I was out of luck; the pigs had sold out hours ago. This small business offers an amazing variety of products. Besides cookies, donuts, pies, and cakes, the shelves were filled with a large number of collectible cookie jars and teapots. The bakery, which dates to 1943, also sells its 60th anniversary cookbook, Baking With Memories, a hefty collection of recipes and stories from customers and employees.

I also drove by the newly restored Harvey House, which once served elegant meals to passengers traveling on the Santa Fe Railway. The 1912 Mission Revival structure, which now serves as a bed-and-breakfast and event center, looked quite snazzy, and I vowed to come back for an overnight stay.

Other Slaton sites vied for my attention, but my ultimate destination was five miles north of town, where friends Ronny and Rita Peek live in a straw-bale house that overlooks Yellowhouse Canyon. I’ve followed Ronny and Rita’s custom regional furniture business (A Hare Raising Experience; www.ahareraisingexperience.com) since my Lubbock days, and they had invited me out to see their unusual, energy-efficient house. I’d seen the shell of the straw-bale studio Ronny had built earlier, and knowing the couple’s considerable artistic talents, I figured the house would be spectacular, but I hadn’t expected it to be such an absolute gem.

Ronny built the 5,000-square-foot house himself over a period of 11 years, sandwiching the work between furniture orders. Like most straw-bale structures, both the exterior and the interior of the house have an adobe-looking façade and an open floor plan. With hand-carved woodwork, a gleaming Mexican-tile floor, and showroom-quality furniture, it’s a piece of art in itself. However, all this pales in contrast to the setting of the house, on the edge of Yellowhouse Canyon. From their living room and adjoining deck, Ronny and Rita can watch hawks riding thermals down into the canyon, spy prairie dogs and roadrunners, and hear coyotes howl at night.

As I drove back to Slaton and rejoined US 84, I savored the memory of the canyon scene, and decided that it was a perfect capstone for this year’s West Texas revisit. To view images of Yellowhouse Canyon, as well as some of Ronny and Rita’s early furniture, see the related article in our November 1995 issue, which can be ordered by calling 512/486-5823, or by e-mailing this address.