The day before the Chris Botti concert in Austin, Michael suggested we stay in the city for the night instead of driving home and getting in at midnight. “The Driskill Hotel is within walking distance of the concert,” he tells me, “Only four minutes away.” How could a girl say no?
So here we are, circling the block, trying to determine where the valet entrance to the historic Driskill Hotel is. I guess a boutique hotel in the middle of downtown Austin doesn’t shout its amenities—it whispers. Once we figure out where we are supposed to be, everything is a breeze, and after wandering through a forest of soaring, gleaming white columns, we are standing in front of the registration desk, checking in, or at least trying to.
Checking into The Driskill
Because our ultimate reason for being here is to attend a concert, and because the venue is very security conscious, and because they suggest you have a see-through bag or a very small purse—and I don’t, I measured my smallest one—I left everything at home, including TDL, credit cards, and other ID. Everything!
Michael, however, has it all! He has everything we need, including a copy of our confirmation from the Driskill and the credit card we used to secure the room. But—I made the reservation in my name because the Hyatt Membership is in my name and because that is what I do—so apparently, none of what Michael has counts. My eyes are open wide in disbelief—at the moment, I am prepared for the roof to fall in – the world to end. But it doesn’t.
Grabbing at straws, I proffer, “I have my phone, and the confirmation email you sent me is in there—somewhere. Will that do?”
Trying to hurry, I go through the motions of finding the buried email in my online Texas Travel folder. It takes longer than a minute. The patient young man offers Michael a beer while I search. Success! I hand over my phone, and everyone is happy. Soon, the Driskill guest service agent gives us directions to the elevator—and our room.
Our Room
When we step off the elevator on the fifth floor, amid a soft palette of cream and white, taupe and green, tall white shelves greet us containing an assortment of books to borrow in case a guest finds themselves with nothing to read. Been there. Done that. But today my night time reading is tucked safely in our suitcase.
As we walk toward our room, I notice the hall walls are filled with original, beautifully framed, oil paintings; several memory boxes also punctuate the space. Feeling like I have been walking through an art gallery for the past few minutes, it is no surprise that when we open the door to our room, I’m impressed! Understated cattle baron elegance says hello. This room is less is more WONDERFUL in an ocean of taupe and white.
The Driskill Bar
Because we are on a limited time frame and because we indulged in a late Sunday brunch, we agreed that a drink and light bar snacks would be the perfect solution for our evening meal before the concert. So, we walk up the wide staircase located in the lobby and climb toward the mezzanine and the Driskill Bar.
The bar is pure Texas. Warm and welcoming and sprawling. We can’t tell exactly where it ends, so we continue our forward progress, noting several groupings of comfy-looking leather couches, chairs, and coffee tables leading to a wall lined with banquets, tables, and chairs leading to a beautiful bronze sculpture of chaos in action—galloping horses, cowboys with rifles and a terrified looking riderless horse. I am definitely in Cattle Baron Heaven. I love that the historic Driskill Hotel is Texan to the Bone.
In the back of the sculpture, the lights are dimmer, and the tables are smaller. We find a cozy one tucked next to a wall that calls our name. No sooner are we sitting down and settling in than a lovely young woman comes by and gives us a card with a QR code so we can pull up the menu on my phone. A menu really isn’t necessary; we scoped out the bar’s offerings online, and we both know what we want.
Dinner in the Driskill Bar
When our drinks arrive, I take a sip of my gin martini, and it is perfect. Michael is doubly pleased that his Old Fashioned is not filled with a giant ice cube, leaving no room for the drink. Fries were not among the items listed on the bar menu, but I knew Michael’s Wagyu burger included them, so they generously agreed to prepare an order for me.
When ordering the ubiquitous French fries, one always hopes but never knows exactly what they will get. The fries in front of us are hot, thin, crisp, and salty. It appears that we hit the French fry jackpot. They are a perfect foil for my delicate Oysters Rockefeller and a welcome accompaniment to Michael’s thick Angus burger because, let’s face it—a burger without fries, even an Angus burger—isn’t a burger. We linger in this warm and welcoming spot as long as we can, until finally it is time to leave for the Chris Botti concert.
The four-minute walk to the Paramount is too short. I love the country, but it is nice to visit the city too—to see the lights. Watch the hustle the bustle, and feel the sense of anticipation in the air around us. Women in fancy dresses and men in sports coats hurry toward the theater. Others are seated at one of the many restaurants that line the street. Still others linger. Waiting.
Breakfast at the Driskill 1886 Cafe
Last night, Michael kept pointing out all our restaurant choices for breakfast, but now that morning is here, he has decided we should eat at the Driskill in the 1886 Café. Walking into the airy space, it seems our timing is perfect; arriving a little after 9 am, there are plenty of tables to choose from and no lines at the counter.
Looking at the menu, everything tempts me—breakfast-brunch out is one of my favorite things to do. Reading the offerings, my imagination tastes it all, from three types of omelets to several offerings of eggs benedict, to quiche to Migas to Croque Madame, and so much more. There are options for the health-conscious and foodies among us. Choosing is hard. Looking over his menu, sensing my indecision, Michael reminds me we can return for breakfast any time; we don’t have to spend the night in Austin.
I look at the menu again, decide, and then Michael walks to the counter to place our order, returning with two giant to-go glasses of orange juice and two large to-go coffees. Apparently, not only does the Driskill’s 1886 Café serve lunch and brunch, but it also serves as a coffee bar for runners, workers, and those just walking by. Looking at the to-go containers in front of me, I feel like at least a quart of liquid is sitting in front of each of us. How are we ever going to drink it all?
Perfect Eggs
As we sit and sip, waiting for our orders, tables begin to fill, and the line at the counter gets longer. The door to the outside adjacent to the counter is constantly in motion as numerous Austinites drop in to secure their morning cup of joe. When a server appears at Michael’s elbow carrying two plates of food, we end our people-watching and concentrate on our food.
Michael’s plate of food is beautiful—it looks like something I would order. And my Hangover Omelet looks like something Michael should be digging into. But he is a sucker for eggs benedict—any type—and I understand why the Texas Paris Benedict called his name. He uses his fork to test the doneness of his poached egg, “Perfect,” he tells me. The two “perfect” eggs, blanketed with golden hollandaise, sit atop a stack of brie, ham, a croissant, and country potatoes. I think his breakfast wins the decadence prize.
My overly generous Hangover Omelet looks almost spartan in comparison, but once I cut into the middle of the omelet, the savory, flavorful chorizo with pepper jack cheese and green chilies spills onto my plate and tells a different tale. The thick toasted slice of multi-grain bread and the country potatoes are perfect for giving my palate a break from all this spicy deliciousness. I’m totally happy. Content. But I feel slightly guilty for not being able to eat and drink everything I ordered—it all seems extremely Texas-sized. Huge!
I have to hand it to my sweet husband for choosing the historic Driskill Hotel to hang our hat for the night, the bar for our light dinner before the concert, and the 1886 Café for breakfast this morning. His choices are nothing less than stellar.
To learn more about the Driskill Hotel’s accommodations and restaurants click on the following link:
To learn about the history of the Driskill Hotel click on the following link:
https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/driskill-hotel
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