A taste of the real Dallas
(...and no, I don’t just mean steak, steak and more steak)
DALLAS: it’s what everyone in Dallas is talking about – or so the slogan boasts on the T-shirt I bought. But the sentiment is the same wherever you go in The Big D. Locals pride themselves on their aptly named ‘Dallatude’, and are as fiercely proud of their city as the original settlers were of the Lone Star State which, once upon a time, was actually its own country.
For seven years I have been trekking to Texas (sometimes twice a year), and my home away from home is still the Rosewood Mansion On Turtle Creek. It’s just a mile or so from the iconic skyline made famous by one of the most successful TV shows of all time.
Dubbed ‘The Mansion’ by locals, staying here is like residing with a wealthy dowager aunt, one who discreetly casts her eyes down when you come home late at night, and whose face lights up equally when you emerge from your margaritasoaked slumber the morning after.
The service is world class and the staff on the concierge desk are the stuff of folklore. And the restaurant? It’s a lip-smacking example of what Dallas does best.
As a food tourist bordering on the fanatical, I would take bad company over bad food any day.
THE people of Dallas eat early. Lunch kicks off at 11.30am – a very civilised time for a breakfast TV presenter like me. It’s certainly y not uncommon to see a finely manicured hand swilling a dirty martini at this hour of the day, but then I would rush to an early lunch in the UK if I got as much bang for my buck as I do in Dallas.
Of course, it is tempting to eat prime steaks morning, noon and night when you are in Texas. But such was the variety of other food on offer (not to mention the value) that during two weeks on the road, I ate only one steak.
Award-winning chef and local hero Stephan Pyles is leading the way at his newly opened Flora Street Cafe, which has s already proven itself to be a stand-out hit – my favourite e was the lobster tomalley served d in the ubiquitous martini glass.
High-end nosheries such as Highland Park’s Bistro 31 (I urge you to try the delicious olive cake), Le Bilboquet and Grange Hall (where the caviar is served in a golden egg) contrast with the hipster hood of Greenville (a short distance from downtown) and the rustic chic of the HG Supply Company. But there is more to Dallas than food, of course – and, for that matter, JFK and J.R. Ewing, although both are still big box office for the town.
The Bishop Arts District used to be Dallas’s ‘best-kept secret’, but it would be hard to call this busy neighbourhood a secret any longer. An area of former warehouses in Oak Cliff is home to some of the city’s funkiest boutiques.
Then there’s the Dallas Arboretum, nestled on the eastern shore of White Rock Lake, minutes from downtown Dallas. This urban oasis boasts 66 acres of fabulous blooms throughout the year, and was built in the grounds of two mansions, both of which still stand.
And no trip to Texas would be complete without a visit to Fort Worth, a few miles east of Dallas.
The Stockyards National Historic District is filled with sites from the Old West, Texas-themed shopping and cuisine, rodeos, saloons, Billy Bob’s Texas (the world’s largest honkytonk), the Texas Cowboy Hall of Fame and twice-daily cattle drives.
Legendary structures such as the Livestock Exchange Building, once nicknamed the Wall Street of the West, and the Stockyards Station shops and restaurants housed in the old sheep and hog barns, are still utilised today.
I also headed to Maverick Fine Western Wear, where I picked up my eighth stetson. Well, a man can never have too many stetsons.
Wearing the right gear, it’s worth taking a trip north of Dallas to the five-star Wildcatter Ranch in Graham County. It’s the only dude ranch I have been to with an infinity pool – the perfect place to cool off when you have been riding horses in the height of summer. The owner, Anne, presides over this sweeping property, which comprises hotel rooms, spacious cabins and a spectacular restaurant.
The town of Graham itself boasts the largest downtown square in America. With its Art Deco cinema, quaint shops and artisan cafes, it’s fair to say that Marty McFly, of Back To The Future fame, wouldn’t look out of place in a DeLorean here.
SEARCHING for another cowboy hat, I was ambushed by a local, who detected my out-of-town accent. He was steaming his own stetson – a technique used to mould the hat to fit – and was keen to tell me all about his time in London in the 1990s.
When I regaled him with stories about my adventures in Texas, he had a useful piece of advice for me: ‘I say arrive on vacation and leave on probation!’
Perhaps he took me for a kindred spirit – after all, I was sporting my new stetson and three-day-old stubble. However, it must have been obvious from my flip-flops and elegant mani-pedi that I didn’t have a Harley-Davidson or a trusty steed tethered outside.
I kidded myself regardless that after a fortnight touring Texas on my own that I was finally blending in – even if the sweat running down my face testified otherwise.