Last weekend, Danny and I went to see Sting and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra at the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion, a show wittily entitled Symphonicity. I had given Danny tickets to the show as a birthday present back in April, and my dad’s gift was dinner before the show.
(I’m not going to be blogging about the concert, which was amazing, despite the ill decision to hold any event outside in June in Houston. The highlights were definitely the orchestrated versions of “End of the Day,” one of my favorite Sting songs, and “Why Should I Cry for You,” my Favorite Sting Song of All Time, the lyrics of which, ironically, make me cry. Anyway. Onward.)
Turns out I had to work in Cy-Fair the day of the concert, and we didn’t have much time to grab dinner. We wisely decided to save the dinner-on-dad for a later date and grab something fast before the Sting show.
All of this is a preamble to say that we finally cashed in on the dad dinner a few nights ago. We headed to Lemongrass Cafe, an Asian fusion restaurant on Bellaire Boulevard. Unfortunately, the restaurant is decorated with creepy terracotta statues of small children. I noted frequently throughout our meal my suspicion that these statues were vessels for the souls of wronged babies. But my pad thai was delivered in a charming egg crepe, and my coconut mousse came in a cage of white chocolate, so I was happy. Carrots recommends.
On the way home, cruising along Westpark parallel to the tollway, we passed Bubba’s Texas Burger Shack.
Danny and I have been talking about visiting the Burger Shack since we came to Houston. It’s situated charmingly directly below the interstate and quite close to the swath of concrete near a line of self-storage businesses where illegal immigrants gather for day work. It looks like a place that would either be unexpectedly fantastic or a terrible, terrible mistake. So I went home and Googled it, andthe customer reviews only reinforced my desire to try out Bubba’s.
“Bubba’s is my happy place,” writes one reviewer. “When I feel the weight of the world crushing down upon me, I head to the shack under the highway for a double buffalo burger and a cold St. Arnold’s root beer.”
Most diners who have made a point to recommend Bubba’s mention the bison burgers, the jalapeño potato salad, and the “patriotically decorated” interior, which I imagine features a minimum of four “Don’t Mess with Texas” signs. A select few extol Bubba’s as the definition of a worthwhile dive and point out the shack’s surprising survival when the interstate was, essentially, built around it.
So, Houstonians, have any of you tried Bubba’s? Should I expect fine burger cuisine or food poisoning?