Podunk in Texas

I can’t explain why I get stuck in places, but I do. I am currently, for instance, stuck in the Dallas-Fort Worth airport area, which is a little on the urban side for my comfort level.

The advantage of being in an urban metropolis is transportation options abound. My new best friends are Lyft drivers who are happy to help me get to Podunk appropriate locations.

That turns out to be Grapevine, Texas.

I can be in Grapevine in less than 10 minutes from my airport industrial complex. Grapevine has a lot going for it, primarily that it is off the frightening freeway system.

Places like these make me feel at home in Grapevine:

I don’t even know where to start.
Not the Egyptian Cairo, p.s.

Some Podunk approved places in Grapevine:

Hop and Sting Brewery. Super casual vibe and some tasty beers.

AJ’s on Main. The guns and longhorn decor made me feel right at home. The brisket sammie made me lonesome for the Iron Chef. What he wouldn’t give for this Texas toast.

Choo choo smoker.

Harvest Hall at the Hotel Vin. I can’t tell you why this Podunk town has this swanky hotel and awesome food court. But it took me back to the markets in Buenos Aires. No lie. I laughed at my colleagues circling the drain back at the Marriott dining hall. Bad choices.

Speaking of bad choices, when I found out Grapevine was home to several Texan wine tasting rooms, I got excited. I’d recently encountered Colorado wine in — wait for it…Colorado— and I had it in my head that maybe tasting wine in all 50 states was a worthy endeavor.

I should have known better when the first place I stopped offered me a flight of California wines. I insisted on having a Texan Tempranillo. Finding it tolerable, I should have checked the box and gone about my business. But no. Stop 2 featured a young lady who served me a rosé she described as having notes of an unsweetened jolly rancher (true) and a cab blend she accurately described as tasting of green pepper and jalapeño. Most people would have gotten the picture but I was taken in by a converted gas station with an Italian owner who claimed to love montepulciano as much as I do. In fact, he was on such good terms with the grape, he called it Monty. This, coupled with his Dago Red blend (I am not making this up) made me wistful for the colonoscopy prep jug.

So, if you find yourself in Texas, enjoy a cold brew and a brisket and skip Bubba’s Beaujolais. Your welcome.

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