I stayed at NYLO, an "urban chic" boutique hotel. It looks like it was transplanted from NYC's SoHo or Meatpacking District.
Their toilet paper is labelled oddly, perhaps intended as humor?
Descending to the lobby, I summoned another Uber to take me to Dallas' trendiest neighborhood: the West Village. Fortunately, my Jamaican driver arrived in a much nicer car than I selected, and I got the "luxury ride" at the UberX price!
I noticed that many places love waving the state flag. You only see the NY state flag at government buildings. However, in Texas, nearly every roadside bar, industrial complex, car dealership, and laundromat had one.
Downtown Dallas is full of new skyscrapers and banks that rise like fungus on food. Dallas only has two national landmarks, and one of them is the assassination site of President John F. Kennedy. To offset the heat, public plazas have industrial fans blowing breezes on you.
I exited the car early, upon seeing a line of Food Trucks.
In addition to oversized meal portions, I observed an statewide infatuation with big pick-up trucks and gas-guzzling SUVs (gasoline is made locally). They're proud of wastefulness.
I walked a few blocks and paused at an intersection. I noticed rails in the road.
A kind man told me that Dallas has a FREE antique streetcar system that augments its modern tram system! Yay! I loved that. Begun in 1989, it's the McKinney Avenue Transit Authority, and it operates the M-Line Trolleys.
McKinney Ave is a main street, full of chic shops, trendy eateries, and historic buildings. Each trolley is a heritage antique, ranging from 1909 to 1970. They originate from Dallas, as well as Portugal, Australia, Canada, and Belgium.
Seen below, I climbed aboard an old streetcar named Matilda. A beauty! Constructed in 1925 in Melbourne, it left Australia for Dallas in 1986. The trolley was so well-maintained that it only needed air conditioners. Its interior woodwork was very nice.
The conductor rang the bell, and a quaint "clang clang" resounded amongst the traffic. We rolled and rattled ahead.
Whenever riders wanted to get off, they tugged a cord or pressed a button that activated a bell. The conductor stopped the trolley at the next stop, and he exited with a handheld Stop Sign to act as a Crossing-Guard so motorists wouldn't collide with people.
More folks got aboard, and the trolley rolled forward.
Suddenly, the trolley stopped. Without saying what was wrong, the conductor announced that he needed to wait for another trolley to take us further. Typical of transit in America, the delay dragged on, and we seemed paused indefinitely. I decided to "go with the flow of the energy" and disembark for fun elsewhere.
Basically, following the train tracks for one block led me to a lovely bakery/café: Bread Winners.
Despite the name, the focus isn't on bread; it's on oversized drinks, gumbo, enchiladas, dumplings, flat-iron meat, and chicken-fried steak. Also called country-fried steak, its an American renaming of German wiener schnitzel: breaded beef cutlets that are pan-fried... like making fried chicken.
Housed in a historic building, the local eatery gets wide acclaim--even from a NY friend who visited it. I ordered a Bloody Mary (which was supposed to be served in a glass shaped like cowboy boot), with peppered bacon as garnish. Piquant and tasty!
A Bloody Mary is named for England's Queen Mary Tudor who began her reign in 1553. As a follower of Roman Catholicism (which was intolerant of other religions), she massacred non-believers.
Their slow-roasted pork tacos were succulent and lovely. Burning the calories, I "walked it off" on the redbrick sidewalks. There was plenty to admire.
Using my iPhone, Siri recommended a cozy organic coffee shop nearby. It was beside gorgeous Victorian-era homes.
The barista greeted me by saying, "Howdy!", which is a Texan and Southwestern abbreviation for "How are you doing?" Yet, just like Americans who say "How's it going?" as a greeting, they merely use it as "Hello" and don't really care to hear how things are going with you. "Howdy y'all" means "Hello to all of you".
Opened in 2008, the Crooked Tree Coffeeshop occupied a historic house. It's former living and dining rooms were full of afternoon patrons.
Operated by a former banker and nurse (who hated their jobs in those American industries), the homey alcove is one of the city's few coffeehouses that isn't part of a corporate-owned national chain. Their fair-trade, organic, freshly-ground beans made a lovely iced latte.
On the corner, there was a unique high-rise and a Whole Foods.
I summoned a ride to my hotel, and the driver proudly pointed to all the new 6-lane expressways built for the ever-expanding population. Alas (and typical), automobiles are supported more than space-saving bicycling or efficient mass transit.
Oil money certainly helps Texas' infrastructure in ways that New York's Niagara Falls energy money doesn't help NYC.
I rendezvoused with my friend, Angelica, at the hotel bar for Happy Hour: $6 martinis made with Tito's Handmade Vodka. It's made in Texas from corn, instead of potatoes. (As overwhelming nationwide usage of corn syrup implies, America is big on corn. Since they use so much corn, America's bourbons and ryes cannot be classified as whiskey). Alas, manufacturing 500 cases per hour, Tito's was criticized for claiming to be "handmade" as false advertising. Courts dismissed the lawsuits and allowed the company's misleading claim to remain (which is historically not new in American food production).
The bar overlooked the pool.
For dinner, it was decided that we dine at Law (as in Wild West "outlaw") at the Four Seasons Hotel. Like Texas, it's big, with a tinge of masculinity.
In the mid-1800s, (after the British, French, and Spanish were evicted), Texas was considered the forefront of the Wild West / American frontier. The prefix "wild" referred to condoned lawlessness, brothels, stagecoach bandits, train robbers, and gunslinger duels. It should not surprise you that America's corporate robber-barons grew up in that environment. (Duels without weapons are still legal in Texas, to deal with insults).
I sauntered to the restaurant. The whole experience was wonderful, and it easily surpassed the mediocre service/milieu that I endured when dining at the Four Seasons in Manhattan (the restaurant was named Fifty-Seven Fifty-Seven).
Meeting friends in a reserved private room (in part of the wine cellar), we were greeted by waiters holding trays of wine.
Having read their website, I also anticipated trying their famous bourbon menu, that embodies Texas' legendary cowboy culture...
For starters, I chose a Sausage Tasting (what every gay man envisions when he's in the land of cowboys): venison, pork, and beef... with pretzel bread. (Pretzels might harken to local German heritage, and Executive Chef Christof Syré is from Germany).
Next, I ordered their signature salad: bacon, chopped egg, blue crab, avocado, and locally-made Deep Ellum bleu cheese. Delicious! At that point, I ordered red wine. The server recommended a Tempranillo from Spain. (A few years ago, Lewis and I were there and learned that Tempranillo is its best-known grape varietal--of 25, from amongst 69 wine regions). It was superb on the palate. Next--as a Texan would say, "it was time for chow"!
You can't go to Texas and NOT try Texas beef! Cattle has been a main commodity since settlers nearly hunted buffalo (bison) to extinction in the 1860s. (A single herd of the original species was salvaged by a rancher named Charles Goodnight, whose descendants gave it to the Parks Department in 1997 for preservation). The restaurant's signature dish is a whopping 48-ounce Tomahawk Ribeye Steak (for two people). Its name derives from its shape, akin to a Native American axe. From the Butcher's Board, I ordered a medium-rare 12-ounce Prime NY Strip Steak, alongside au jus and blistered peppers. It was moist, flavorful, and fork-tender... not requiring the serrated steak knife that they offered. Keeping the meat as centerstage, a separate plate held my creamed spinach and roasted potatoes.
Many cattle/dairy producers have lineage from the mid-1800s that use a husky "sire system" with desirable genetics that create tasty carcass results. The Texas Beef Council and National Cattlemen's Beef Association are significant lobbying forces in politics, import regulations, and marketing. When Japan's cattle--called Wagyu--was recognized as the healthiest and best in the world, some were brought to Texas. Japan banned such exports to prevent tampering. To keep it out (which is against capitalism's motto of Free Trade) and give American beef an unfair advantage (like it did against other superior foods), the US government banned Kobe beef--the most popular form of Wagyu. Last year, Lewis and I ate delicious Wagyu in Japan, and it cost much less than homegrown steaks in America. Read about it here:
For dessert, my dining partner and I shared "Lemon Pie In A Jar", as well as a baked Chocolate Lava Cake.
We sipped espresso on the patio. Similar to California and hot deserts, Texas cools down at dusk (something that NYC fails to do). Therefore, even though it was June, the fire pit was lovely!
*You can see my trip to California here:
Yet, soon the fire pits were mobbed by unsupervised adolescents from the pool, whose parents dined indoors.
Back at my hotel, the empty pool was lit by an outdoor fireplace. It was lovely to admire, and a few people had a nighttime swim.
Before bedtime, I enjoyed a FaceTime conversation with Lewis and told him about my active day.
The next morning, as daybreak shone against the palm trees,
Lewis called me via FaceTime, during his morning run, because he missed me so much! Awe!
That is how I started my week work at my company's offices in Dallas. Those events would not entice you. My "free day", as described here, was the most interesting. My week whooshed by, as I learned many valuable things and impressed everyone. I still have social-media pen-pals from that visit--especially one gay Texan who moved to NYC, overpaid for it, hated the inferior quality of life, abhorred its "cruel gay" LGBT culture, and moved back to TX. He could not believe that I was born in New York State because "I'm too nice to be a New Yorker". I replied that my boyfriend is a native Manhattanite and is even sweeter. (People say the same thing about him)! When that week ended, I was happy to return to cooler temperatures... and my beau.
Grateful for the experiences, I bid farewell to sunny Dallas!
