To get the Cameroonian fish, you sort of have to know somebody. My friend’s former co-worker’s friend is from Cameroon, and that is how we got the phone number to call to reserve our fish before noon the day-of. You can’t just show up to the house and expect to be illegally fed seafood; you have to make a reservation.
What qualifies as a kolache is a matter of some debate, but the working definition for most of Houston is some type of meat encased in fluffy, white bread or some type of sweet filling resting on top of the bread. Yes, that’s a wide spectrum. Technically, kolaches (or kolatches) are Czech in origin and only refer to yeast dough with a sweet filling—fruit, cheese or poppy seed. The meat-filled (usually sausage) kind is called klobasnek, but no one in Texas really calls it that.
People have been eating meatloaf, chicken noodle soup, and eggs here for over half a century at least, and Telephone Road itself is a storied place. Strike up a conversation with any rode-hard drinker in a bar, and he’ll tell you decades-old stories about Telephone Road. Both Steve Earle and Rodney Crowell have tribute songs named after it, honoring beer and sawdust covered honkytonks.
The Houston heat is enough to make a woman lose her appetite, and that’s saying something around these parts. Months of swelter beginning in May mean searing butt cheeks on leather car seats while an army of mosquitoes charge the enemy and a pervasive swamp smell hangs in the air.