Aborted Efforts

“Charlotte, you do this to me all the time.”

And Michael’s right. Somehow. Someway. Even though I check the Internet. Even though I check the website. i.e., Guerrilla Gourmet Food Truck. Location changes often. Check out Facebook or see map below. And I did.  Both. I am forever leading us to closed (off hours) or defunct or non-existent restaurants. It shouldn’t happen. It does. And I have been counting on checking out the Gorilla Gourmet Food Truck. Not just any food truck, but one with a five-star rating from several sites. One man said he’d drive from Round Rock just to eat there.

Michael says, “Let’s just drive to Port O’Connor. It’s only an hour and a half away”

Why not? It’s our MO.

Port O’Connor

Of course, Port O’Connor has changed. Everything changes. Mrs. Raby’s of the famous stuffed crabs is gone. Rankin Restaurant where the customers were allowed to arrive barefoot and in cut-offs and stuff themselves with heavenly crispy fried shrimp is gone. But our old haunt, Saint Christopher’s Marina, where we docked Island Rose on trips down the Intracoastal Waterway for so many summers for so many years, is still in business. The forever-long pier that juts out into the bay is still here, and so is Hurricane Junction. My memories of it are of a beloved tattered and torn dive, with a bottle cap-strewn parking area. It is now newly painted and gussied up; expanded, with a side addition and a covered deck and skirting hiding its pier and beam foundation. It even has a real sign out front.

Hurricane Junction

Walking through the door we see that even the interior has changed.  The pool tables are gone. Tables for four and eight seem to be de rigueur. It appears to be family-friendly. Almost light and airy, even though, of all the tables that are occupied, and there are many, there is only one other female customer in the place. These days, Hurricane Junction also serves food. They even have a daily special—today it is chicken fried chicken with mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans. Eyeing the food that is placed before the gentleman at the table next to us we notice that the servings are huge.

Burger’s and Beer

We decide to stick with a modest burger. But first Michael orders Corona with lime. I try for a Tecate but settle for Corona too. I look around. We are the only customers with a beer before us. Everyone else has Styrofoam cups full of soda or tea. This place has changed. I wonder if the owners are new.

Our burgers arrive, and of course, I had to order the one with a fried egg and bacon because—how could I not? And it is really delicious. Everything about it is delicious. The egg is perfectly fried. The bacon—salty and smoky. The lettuce—crisp. The tomato—ripe. The jalapeno bun is a touch sweet and wonderfully soft. Cheese, melted. The meat patty—a large 8 ounces, but not too thick for me to wrap my mouth around if I squish the entire burger down some. I munch away till it is half its original size. Then I stop.

I take one more small bite.

Then I really stop.

I’m not sure where the Gorilla Gourmet went, but sometimes things are meant to be, and this ride down memory lane to Port O’Connor and the discovery of the dressed-up Hurricane Junction is pretty much perfect itself.