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Weird is the word in Texas.

Transplants from the Bay Area, The Husband and I were super psyched to participate in the Keep Austin Weird 5k and Festival this past weekend where locals run in ridiculously “weird” attire to the beat of local bands (well, not everyone as evidenced by our hum-drum outfits left).

Had I participated, I might have mimicked a pixie of a woman in metallic blue tights and a hot pink tutu. It wasn’t the weirdest outfit out there, but it appealed to my flashy Tinker bell side. What can I say? She sparkled.

In many ways, this is Austin’s version of the Bay To Breakers. Except for one distinct difference: there was no prancing and dancing in the fog. We ran like slugs in upper ninety degree heat. I have now fully grasped the term: Hotter Than Hell.

But, the beer and the Texadelphia cheese steaks at the end of the 3.1 miles almost made me forget my wheezing breath and disgusting butt sweat. That is, until Austin’s resident cross-dresser– Leslie-- passed by in a tuxedo g-string and a cowboy hat.

Keep Austin Weird- Amen.

Photos courtesy of Dieter VonSchramm

The Husband and I had the pleasure of hosting a couple of my NY colleagues last week. They were in Austin for 24 short hours. Aside from doing business, they had only one request…

May we please sample the exotic local dish the Texans call “queso.”

When I first moved to Austin, I too, was fascinated by this unofficial state food (think cheese fondue with a jalapeño sting) and lacked an understanding of its gastronomical power. It took no time at all for us to get educated, and hooked. Today, The Husband and I consume our annual share of the dish and were happy to oblige our out-of-town guests.

The Husband driving the ladies to our favorite taco bar.

My NY Colleagues in the backseat of my vintage Mercedes.

Hot Cheese. Delicious.

Izzy and crew prepare to dive in.

As predicted, my sophisticated big city girls couldn’t get enough.

One more fresh lime margarita, please.

“That sounds disgusting,” is what my NY pals said when I told them about the popularity of The Avocado Margarita served up by the pitcher to hot and thirsty Austinites.

I was in NY on business a month ago and I was gushing about what an eclectic and creatively-inspired town Austin is. I talked about the growing art scene, the polite clash of politics, the cowboy-couture fashion and the savory mix of cross-cultural food.

They feigned mild enthusiasm, but what they really wanted to know more about was “an avocado margarita– really?”

Think, smooth and creamy…

So, when I spotted “Hot Summer Cocktails,” the cover story in today’s Austin American Statesman XL section, I laughed out loud. Yes- really. An avocado margarita! I wasn’t making it up.

Check it out…

“In addition to killer cochinita pibil and tamales as big as your mama’s forearm, Curra’s south (they’re still looking for a location to relocate the old Burnet Road spot) is famous for a drink that, when first mentioned, evokes this reaction: “A what margarita?” Co-owner Jorge Garcia and his brother Marco, who’s currently introducing Nashvillians to the avocado margarita at the Curra’s there, came up with the drink about a decade ago while they were fooling around with fresh fruit margaritas for the summertime. Well, they thought, avocado is a fruit…and the rest was cocktail history. Garcia blended one, looked at it and said, “Avocado is no good without cilantro.” So a little bit of that goes in, too. Garcia says he had to give a few away before the thing caught on, but now Curra’s is renowned for them. Thick, smooth and creamy like buttah, the drink is probably not for everybody, but life’s too short not to try one.”

As it turns out, my NY colleagues will be arriving in Austin tomorrow for 24 hours of business. Just enough time to down a pitcher or two.

Avocado margarita: best enjoyed at Curra’s, 614 E. Oltorf St.

Story and photo courtesy of The Austin American Statesman

One is bald and one has braids. When your husband calls and says, “I’m going to be hanging out with Willie Nelson today,” you just can’t help but smile. Especially after he tells you that Willie rode up on a horse. Life in Austin is pretty cool.

If you haven’t had a chance to visit the Stepmother’s Milk forum lately, check out this interesting post that immediately caught my attention:

Bio-mom in need of advice from stepmothers!

I think this shows such bravery and honesty and I am so encouraged by this exchange. I continue to be blown away by those of you who aren’t afraid to show your vulnerability and who reach out to other women in the trenches for comfort, strength and a different perspective.

Way to go!

Okay, I need to brag a little bit. My running partner and I accomplished a seven-mile run this morning in thirty degree weather and in miserable rain. We almost called the whole thing off when we realized in the pre-dawn light that, not only would we have sore muscles and achy bones when it was all said and done, but we’d be wet and perhaps sickly. Yet, we persevered and I must say, we felt like warriors.

Then (because this wasn’t enough to boost my self-esteem), I went to the mole doctor and had him cut off a few ugly skin tags and a couple raised old-lady bumps. You know, they just use a plain old kitchen knife and whack those suckers off?

So, now I’m feeling pretty good about myself and I’m considering what sort of reward would be appropriate to honor my unbreakable spirit. Food and/or drink, naturally. Since it’s cold outside, I’m thinking I might indulge in the Dirty Bull. Have you heard of this? It’s a ridiculous cocktail concocted in New York, but I find it more fitting for a new Texan like me. When I first read the list of ingredients (see story here), I almost gagged, but since I’m so tough today, I think it might just satisfy the beast in me.

DIRTY BULL
3 ounces vodka
1/2 ounce olive brine
1 teaspoon veal or beef stock
Cured black olives and beef jerky for garnish.

Hey, if I can drink a gravy martini (and like it), there’s nothing about this stepmom gig I can’t swallow! Cheers and happy weekend.

IR

Photo courtesy of Lenox Fontaine for The New York Times