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A month back, commenter matternal (Michalis Nikolaou, who noticed that we have the same surname) suggested that if I ever found myself in Houston, I should pay a visit to Niko Niko’s Greek Restaurant, 2520 Montrose, Houston Tx. For that its name was like mine.
On the Super Shuttle equivalent out of Seattle heading to San Francisco, the convivially cheery driver informed me that I clearly had interests in Hawai`i, since Nick’s Fish Restaurant in Honolulu was also run by a Nick Nicholas. (If he meant Nick’s Fishmarket, it’s closed down. So I’m obviously now looking to diversify.)
En route from San Francisco to New Orleans, I found myself in Houston Tx, at 6 am Saturday morning, with three hours between flights.
Those who have a life define fulfilment through family, or work, or study, or companionship. Those who have less of a life define it through outré romantic gestures, or their next high. And then there are those who define fulfilment through the occasional ability to indulge in grand follies.
I don’t feel fulfilled for it as I take the cab back to George Bush International Airport at 7 am Saturday morning; but I have gone off and committed my grand folly for the week.
The grand folly did not cost me a grand; it did cost me close enough to a tenth of a grand for me to be taken aback. Especially because the restaurant only opens at 10 am, so what greeted me was fairly dark, with several restaurant workers just arriving on the site, and looking startled enough that I did not seek to inveigle them into the shots.
So I can’t really tell you anything about the restaurant, other than what the website shows you. (And the website did not cost me a tenth of a grand to visit.) They serve souvlakis. They have a Greek flag in the window. They’re situated on Montrose, which my cab driver informs me is “Half cosmopolitan, half gay”. (I know what he means—half ethnic, half gay; but I’m sure there’s several members of Houston’s gay community who regard themselves as plenty cosmopolitan, and maybe even plenty ethnic.) Their phone number has GYRO in it. The owner has a beard, and looks like me inasmuch as anyone Greek with a beard looks like me.
Houston’s downtown looked just as brobdignanian as San Francisco’s, and nothing like Seattle; but I could barely see anything at all at 6:30 am (outside of the donut shops).
And I’m disappointing matternal, who I suspect was rather expecting me to visit Houston at a time when Niko Niko’s was open for business (and may even have had him in it). But I doubt I could deal with a souvlaki that time of day anyway. Or most times of day, really.
Right, back at George Bush International Airport. May even catch some sleep now…