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I’m a Dirty Little Hobbit

You may be wondering what this post is about with a title like that. Don’t worry, I won’t keep you in suspense long.

I was recently invited to a concert. The particular concert featured 311 and Slightly Stoopid. If you’re unfamiliar with either or these two bands, suffice it to say that they are of the “Amerified” reggae variety. A lot of songs about relaxing, happiness, and weed. I’m don’t smoke weed. It’s not that I have something against it, I just don’t really like it. My weapon of choice is alcohol.

The concert started off great, but I knew what was going to happen. Let me set the scene for you. We had seats on the lawn, which should be more aptly named the slopey, muddy cheap seats.

So there I am butt wet and muddy with my shoes off so that I don’t ruin them. The beer, which cost about 12 dollars for a 24 oz., quenching my thirst in the midday sun. I was having a good time and just relaxing and listening to music. The aroma of the concert was definitely of the illegal kind. Well, sooner or later the beers start to catch up to me and before I know it its nightfall and I’m swinging my shirt above my head and sliding down this muddy slope.

At one point I started pulling the rope tied to the barricade so that the barricade would fall and all the people would rush forward only to be driven back by security. I was that guy.

I suddenly realize I have to use the bathroom so I go to the bathroom. While walking in someone inquired as to why I didn’t have a shirt or shoes on and my reply, which seemed the most logical at the time, was that I was a hobbit. I’m not quite sure why I said it, but I’m glad I did. The guys face was one of bewilderment and slight amusement. I then merrily skipped (probably more like a drunken shuffle) into the bathroom where I probably stepped on more urine than I even want to think about. My thinking was that I was going to wash my feet, so it didn’t matter. Unfortunately I didn’t think about the fact that I was going to put my feet back into my shoes and they would be forever tarnished with the urine of a thousand potheads.

The night wasn’t over there, however. After the concert we decided to go to a place called TAPS where they had hundreds of beer choices. What more to finish off the gallon of beer I had earlier, more beer. I played a round of cornhole (its not what you think…google it) and then left to eat.

We arrived at Dots at about 3AM and I proceeded to devour a jalapeno and onion hamburger while my friend made an ass of himself to the surrounding tables. Note to self, putting sausages up to your ears and screaming, “I’ve got sausage ears!” is not as funny if you’re not drunk.

120 dollars later, I was home safely in my bed. I think I should mention that we had a designated driver. I would never drive after drinking anymore. I made that mistake one time and I will never go through the trouble it caused ever again. I did however get to sit in the passenger side and watch people get arrested for driving drunk. I even watched one guy get tackled off his motorcycle. Texas highway patrol doesn’t play around…




Korea Garden Restaurant

So, I had posted some time back about my upcoming micro-travels in Houston. Unfortunately for me, Houston completely sucks for finding anything but food. I’m not giving up. Let that be clear. But for now I’ve resigned to include local places to eat. I’m not talking about chains that you can find all over the country. I am going to only be showcasing local places that interest me.

Now it’s time for #1, Korea Garden Restaurant

This place was great. To be honest, I didn’t expect much. It was a building in the middle of a shopping strip of other Korean places. When I say Korean places, I don’t mean food (although they could be). I am talking about buildings with Korean characters that I cannot read. I’m sure one place was a laundry mat and the other was a karaoke bar.

How did I just decide to go here, you might ask. Well, I have this friend who was in the Air Force. He was actually a linguist and lived in South Korea. During his time there he picked up a love for the food.

When we went in, he didn’t even look at the menu. He opened his mouth and shocked me when he spoke Korean. I knew he spoke Korean, but for some reason seeing this little white guy with a beard speak Korean is still shocking. Anyway, he ordered some unknown food and I sat patiently waiting.

I was a little scared. I had no clue what I was about to eat but there was a big metal grill in front of me. Turns out he had ordered spicy cold noodles and BBQ pork. Apparently, you cook your own meat at the grill.

While we waited he told me about this little old lady who owned a small place in Korea that was about 12 foot by 8 foot and she had a kitchen on one side and a cot on the other with a couple of tables in the middle. This lady lived here and at all hours of the night people would wake her up and she’d invite them in and cook for them. That was how she made her living. In the back she had a little garden and farm where she would get the vegetables and meat. Talk about efficiency.

Finally, the food came to the table. It was a feast…

I was kind of intimidated by some of the things. I didn’t know what a lot of it was and, although I could ask my friend what it was, telling me it was a Korean pear or a potato in sauce did not fully relate how it would taste. Luckily, I am brave when it comes to trying new things.

After tasting a little bit of each, I was pleasantly surprised. There wasn’t a single thing that I didn’t care for. Also, I was instructed that I was to take a lettuce leaf, and put some meat and other things in it, roll it up, and eat it like that. Apparently in Korea each bite is proceeded with a drink of Soju, which I am told is like Korean Sake.

That Soju tidbit brought us into another tale. Apparently riot police and rioters carry around these large wooden rods that they beat the crap out of each other with. He said he had seen a drunk Air Force guy once get his shins and forearms busted up after creating a scene. Korean culture is very respectful. Pushing that boundary is dangerous.

I am writing this now, completely stuffed. I also might add that my friend was kind enough to pick up the tab. I would recommend this place to anyone living or visiting Houston.

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