View from the Cottage

 

Good food and good times in Cowtown

Megan and me at Bowie House
The fetish necklace was my nod to western wear 

My oldest daughter, an Austin lawyer, had business in Fort Worth Thursday and stayed over a couple of nights so we could have some together time. As it happens Jordan was out of town on a business trip, so she missed the good times and we missed her. Thursday nigh I had plans to go to 61 Osteria, an Italian restaurant downtown, with friends, so we decided when Megan was through with her day, she’d just meet us there. I told her it was in a bank building—but oops!  I told her the wrong bank, and she walked all over downtown in high heels.

The restaurant had a happy hour special with great price on wine and tiny snacks—I don’t eat olives so was pretty much out of that. But we ordered—a cheese and meat platter, focaccia, a polenta dish, and an artichoke hearts dish. The kind of food I would never fix—in truth, I was a bit intimidated by the complexity of the menu and nature of the offering—this was definitely not your spaghetti and meatballs in a red sauce kind of Italian restaurant. The décor in the bar is Fifties moderne, sleek and clean, with too tiny tables. The food was delicious, but what intrigued me all evening was the view. A wall of windows looked west, so I watched the sun go from gold to pink to flame and then, almost suddenly, gray. To one side was Burnett Park, a two-acre urban park in the midst of downtown that features the iconic statue of a man with a briefcase. The statue is fifty feet tall, weighs 24,000 lbs. and is made of brushed aluminum with the figure of the man cut out of the piece of aluminum. After dark, trees in the park are lit with ever-changing colors. Megan said she couldn’t believe I was going downtown, me who has always avoided the center of the city as much as I could. I loved being there.

Man with a briefcase

Megan and I both had work to do Friday, but by evening we stopped for a glass of wine with Christian and then headed off for dinner at Bowie House, a new boutique hotel and Auberge property with a well-planned, consistent western image—not flashy western but more low key. We had reservations at the restaurant, Bricks and Horses. Where to begin with the hotel? From reading, I knew that it has an unusual art collection. 400 pieces from the private collection of the wealthy horsewoman behind the hotel project. Young men in western garb and the required Stetson roaming the foyer and bar area may have been subtle security but their main function seemed to be seeing to the guests comfort. The minute we were through the door, one such man directed us to the ramp for my transport chair. The furnishings are heavy and dark, with echoes of the culture of the American west everywhere—cowboys, native Americans, cattle, and buffalo in paintings and sculpture. Dress for men was boots and jeans, and for women mostly boots and short skirts. I was the only mobility challenged person in the entire place and easily the oldest.

We had one of those long slow dinners, with nice breaks between courses. At Megan’s choice, we started with tuna tartare and then moved to Caesar salad. For an entrée, I had lobster Thermidor and she, a filet with a side of cauliflower casserole. Our dessert was a gussied-up banana split in a croissant shell. Finally, just before ten, we headed home.

Megan was having a difficult time backing my transport chair over the metal band between sliding glass doors at the exit (If she had gone forward she would have likely pitched me headfirst onto the concrete) when I heard a man say, “Here, hold my hand.” And I did. He was a middle-aged, cowboy type, and while he had a firm hold on my hand, his pal helped Megan lift the chair over the offending metal. Then as they got into their SUV they called out, “We’re going to Billy Bob’s. Want to go dancing?” That quick bit of help made a great impression on me, after an evening of everyone seeing to it that we were comfortable and being careful and respectful of my wheelchair. In a world rife with hate and anger and cruelty, Fort Worth is still a friendly city. With wonderful opportunities for good food and good times.

Tonight for supper I have leftover lobster Thermidor. Life is good.