Dallas: "A town where they root on Goliath to beat up David"

Ok, I can't take credit for my subject line. Molly Ivins, an Austin, TX columnist, who died this week, said it first. But I will take credit for my travelogue of my few days spent in Dallas and San Antonio. It wasn't the best trip, let's just say. Lest us forget it is the same town in which JFK was slain, and we all know how I feel about that. People taking touristic photos on the grassy knoll should indicate a weird state (literally and figuratively). My journey began at Pgh. International, where, as an Au Bon Pain frequenter, I thought I'd mix it up a bit--get crazy--and instead of ordering the usual sesame bagel with full-fat cream cheese, I opted for the the sesame bagel egg sandwich with bacon (full-fat cream cheese on the side, in case, you know, an extra bagel nibble found itself chaste.) Imagine the extreme disappointment felt when I saw, after boarding the plane, that I purchased a lousy dry egg sprinkled with brittle bacon pieces. An Egg McMuffin, it most certainly was not.
Then, and I'm not exaggerating, there was a loud-voiced woman on the plane who regaled her neighbor (who may or may not have been the most polite person in the history of modern flight) for the ENTIRE 4 hours with tales of child-rearing, a brief but frightening account of Texas-Mexican relations, and opinions of oh, whatever struck her. I "overheard" her mention that she had 4 kids, and let's just say, in the immortal words of Mister T.: "I pity the [kids]"

Next to me was a lovely, sweet, and QUIET Mellon Bank worker whose total and utter dedication to her Word Searches booklet was truly mesmerizing. I caught myself staring, as she bothered to scratch out the clues (something I never ever did). She carefully traced the diagonal answers too.

After renting a car in Dallas and being on the road in my nasty Dodge Magnum (sorry if you own one, really, I don't mean to offend)......I noticed that the first Dallas police car speeding by me was a Trans Am. It wasn't turquoise, nor did it have an airbrushed eagle on it (I am describing my dream car as an 8 year old, FYI), but i believe a T-roof was involved, AND, the license plate was not like the other Texas Lone Star Emblem plates, but rather, it only featured black numbers only on a background, with the word "exempt" forged below. Interesting. (Interesting, pronounced with 4 syllables, that is).

I was on my way to lunch. I typed in "best lunch in Dallas" on the hotel's google service, and "3 Hot Spots" appeared. Hook, Line, and Sinker (known for its catfish), a burger joint (which mentioned the term tar tar, thus moving right along), and then Margaux's. Having visited Dallas all of 27 minutes, I recognized the street name, and I picked it not only b/c of location, but because of the intriguing description of "exquisite Cajun food in very un-Cajun surroundings". What possibly could "un-Cajun" mean? Plus, I picked it 'cause I'm a sucker for -aux endings. The review said it was found in Dallas' Design District, and so I went. When I entered the place, I felt like I had walked into an art gallery opening, an opening to which I received no invite.

The one-room restaurant was very sparse, with black-tableclothed seating. A single red rose in a square vase sat at each table. It was a former industrial space that had been converted into, well, a very Un-Cajun space. Concrete floor, sky lights, big steel beams for support, and some very artsy art. i.e. blown up prints of individual pieces of silverware. About 30 pairs of eyes glanced at me as I walked in. I was promptly greeted by no one. Three minutes later (diners has forgotten about me about 2 minutes and 30 seconds earlier), a woman accessorized with ballet flats and a cell phone seated me. Once sitting, I am granted the opportunity to be ignored by not only the greeter and all the guests, but now the entire wait staff. The whole time, all I can think is that JR and Miss Ellie--especially Miss Ellie--NEVER received this kind of treatment. However, I was an indignation-free foodie that day, and once my cornflour-dusted oysters came out, bathed in their black pepper remoulade, all was forgiven. More to follow.....