We spent some time visiting some of the Trinity Groves hot spots this weekend including the new Sugar Skull Cafe. This is a fast casual restaurant that rests at the end of the East aisle in the front of the complex next to the very popular Resto Gastro Bistro. Sugar Skull offers a nice line up of tacos, breakfast items, and sides such as fundido, elotes and churros. Continue reading
Tag Archives: Trinity Groves
by Jeff Dietzman
Some like it sour, others do not.
I’m the former, I love sour beer. Gose (“Gose-uh”), American Wild Ale, Berliner Weisse, Flanders Red Ale, and Lambic, just to name a few.
I’m not quite certain why I’ve fallen in love with these funky tart varieties. Perhaps, it’s a bit of a burnout from years of drinking big bold stouts, floral and bitter IPA’s, and spicy Belgians ales. There’s something about them that’s not a familiar “beer” flavor that we’ve all become accustomed to, and so it’s a refreshing change of pace from the usual drinking regimen. Continue reading
Listen to your lady (insert wife, husband, significant other, life companion, etc.). Listen and listen well. He/She has your best interests in mind. I have been fortunate to be part of an amazing team with equally amazing partners in a little place called LUCK for the last couple of years and I owe it all to my lady, Chris.
People often come into the restaurant and ask how we got started in all of this, and while I’m always happy to share, we’ve stopped short of enshrining the menu backs with our story. Not saying we won’t at some point, but I thought I’d take this opportunity to get it down in print. And also, I have more freedom here to ramble where I often feel like speeding up the story when people are trying to dine. Continue reading
First rule in craft beer bars: trust your bartender. And at the risk of hearing loud guffaws and endless mockery when I walk into work, don’t be afraid to trust your servers, either. Most of us know what we’re doing. Most of us also have opinions on how to and how not to behave in bars devoted to delicious craft beers, specifically local ones. The list I’ve compiled is mostly negative, and quite possibly about you, so be forewarned.
Most importantly, other than trusting your service staff, obviously, don’t be a snob. Let’s be honest, no one likes a snob. Snobs in the craft beer community tend to be categorized into two groups: those who know very little about a lot and those who know a lot about very little. Both tend to be the ones who swirl, sniff, and slurp. Every single time. Every single taste. The former may have dabbled in home-brewing. And, of course, by “dabbled in”, I mean they’ve tried it once, most likely a failed interpretation of a Bock. These are the ones who ask me for stout blondes. They’re the ones who learned just enough about beer terminology to not know how to use it correctly. The latter of the category tends to be the self-important type, which we have all too much of in our little community, and these are the ones I feel, most often, the need to address. Continue reading
If you had asked me a year and a half ago how I felt about beer I would have simply told you that I hated it. I preferred wine, vodka, and the occasional hard cider. Actually, I preferred just about anything that wasn’t beer. Now, this doesn’t mean I didn’t want to like it. I had tried it on numerous occasions where beer seemed to be the drink of choice, or more often than not, I didn’t have any other options. The house party in the backyard with a keg in a tub of ice and red plastic cups stacked high on a cheap folding table. The wedding with the “open bar” that only served green beer because the wedding also happened to fall on St. Patrick’s Day. True story. I won’t name any specifics of the beers I consumed that continuously disappointed and discouraged me from drinking more beer, but I’ve often heard it referred to as “Big Beer”. Have you ever heard the song that says “I was looking for love in all the wrong places”? If you asked me now how I feel about beer, I could talk your ear off for hours. Continue reading
33 years ago, my mother gave birth to a good looking kid. I mean, a real looker. The type of adorable that belongs on diaper ads. Anyway, after 33 years, he didn’t remain that same level of attractiveness, but that’s not the point of the story. On that day, my mother and father agreed that the squirming, peeing, squint-eyed, ball of baby fat, and curly brown hair should be named Kevin. Kevin Deweber. That first bit, I like. The second bit doesn’t exactly roll trippingly off the tongue. It’s not exactly the type of Surname that hints at historical significance, or of some exotic heritage. Instead, it sounds like a cheese. Like one of those fancy cheeses, the ones that your friend that drives the rented porche puts out at his condo he can’t afford. Limberger, Meunster, Deweber, Glouchester. I always wanted to be a Duchman, or an Armstrong. Something with interesting, or meaningful implications. My point being, there is power in a name. Continue reading