Texans: They Like Their Meat

Thanksgiving is a day that, among other things, our entire nation uses as an excuse to gorge ourselves.  It's in that spirit that I write about my most recent visit to the Lone Star State.

After last week's successful deer hunting trip, I met my parents in San Antonio for a brief 24 hours.  On the way from San Antonio to Fredericksburg, we stopped at Rudy's Barbecue, something of a legend in those parts for quality 'cue.  I hadn't eaten there since college (many more years ago than I care to admit), and my memories were fond.

I opted for the "beef" (also called brisket or sliced beef, or any combination thereof).  It was outstanding -- smoky, tender, and not a bit dry.  Wedged between two slices of stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth Wonderbread, slathered in sauce, it was heaven.  In my opinion, sliced beef defines Texas barbecue, and you won't get much better than Rudy's.  Appropriately enough, Rudy's is also housed in a convenience store and gas station -- not unlike my K.C. favorite, Oklahoma Joe's.  Coincidence?  I think not.

That evening, my parents and I attended the Gillespie County Wild Game Dinner at the fairgrounds.  And good thing, because I'm sure it attracted well over 500 attendees.  What a hoot!  For 20 bucks, you were entitled to every kind of wild critter under the sun, as well as an open bar that served Pilsner Urquell on tap and Becker Reserve Cabernet.

But the real belle of the ball was the dinner.  It was served buffet style from seven stations, and I had everything from axis venison chili to smoked wild turkey to chicken fried scimitar oryx.  And it was all good (which can't always be said for some wild game feeds).  Most notable?  Not a vegetable in sight!  (Of course, back when I lived in the Lone Star State, I quickly learned that a Texan's idea of vegetables typically includes pinto beans, mashed potatoes, and corn.)

After the dinner, there was a huge live auction that featured tons o' guns, hunting trips, and various assorted Texana.  It was a quick trip, but uniquely Texan nonetheless.

You Can Have My Girl, But Don't Touch My Hat

The great Kinky Friedman has famously said that "there are two types of people who wear cowboy hats: cowboys and assholes." I've been known to wear the aforementioned headgear from time to time, but since I don't run any angus in the Country Hill subdivision, I guess I fall into the latter camp.

Which is unfortunate. Why is it that when it comes to real, classic, honest-to-goodness American apparel, you have to be a real-life John Wayne or J.R. Ewing to wear cowboy hats (and to a lesser extent, cowboy boots)? You don't have to play in the big leagues to wear a baseball hat (that other patently American headwear), do you?

Maybe it's the circumstance that dictate proper hat-wearing. I don't do it while mowing the lawn, at restaurants, or even at the twang-filled live music venues that I frequent. My western lid-donning is almost exclusively while I'm out hunting. In fact, I sometimes prefer a cowboy hat -- the bill is much better at shielding my eyes from the glare of a rising or setting sun. Plus, I'll admit it, I like the way I look in one (that's probably where the asshole comes in).

Many, many years ago, my soon-to-be-wife (and native Texan) bought me a Larry Mahan straw for Christmas. I wore it occasionally back then, but I'm finding I'm wearing it more and more over the last couple of years out in the field. It's been properly beaten up, crushed, and sweated in, so it looks the part. Yet it's an honest, well-made cowboy hat, not one of those cheesy, cheap, pre-tattered, rolled brim types that you'd get at The Gap. Those ARE for assholes.

For Father's Day, I got a great looking black Resistol Spotter B that I can't wait to wear as soon as things cool down. Some know-it-alls content that felt should only be worn from Labor Day to Easter, and straw the rest of the time. But for me though, depending on the temperature, I'll just wear what feels right.

And for me, wearing a cowboy hat now and then just feels right... asshole or not.

(And no, I don't really mean what I said in the title, sweetie. I just like Lyle Lovett.)