In honor of the great news from my friend Sean Beck (the amazing wine voice behind Hugo's, Backstreet, and Trevisio) I decided to post a previously unfinished blog from one of my final evenings in Houston this summer.

I was jamming to some Lady Gaga and contemplating the symbolic demise of bin- laden when I got the urge for a smoky Oaxacan Margarita from Hugo's. This stellar Mexican restaurant on Westheimer had become our once-a-week home for ceviche (the best in Houston) and killer bar tacos.

When the Schmee (my pet name for Juliet) got home I informed her of my need for Hugo's, and she immediately concurred. In only moments, we were on our way for creative Mexican bliss. We had recently been turned-on to the taquitos de pollo which are crispy bites of chicken essence with the most intensely flavored guacamole I have had anywhere in the H.

Hugo's has a fabulous bar, and while the dining room is typically filled with the Houston Hoity-toity, the bar is typically relaxed and replete with wine industry folks or food cognoscenti. On this particular evening the bar was empty and we had the run of the place. We sat chatting with our favorite bartender who had come to know that we wanted absolutely no agave nectar (or any other sweetener) in our margs.

Juliet and I were dressed very casually on this evening. I was in my favorite pink short-sleeved pearl snap shirt, brown cotton pants, and ubiquitous flip-flops. Juliet was in jeans, a casual top and also flip-flops (nicer than mine). We felt completely at home sipping our margs, discussing our plans to move to Colorado, and watching the members of polite society discuss the price of oil (in mixed company) or the price of whores (when it was just the boys). It was indeed a great night at Hugo's and after 3 gorgeous tastes of Mezcal and 2 margs I was on Cloud 11.

Schmee and I paid our bill and made our way out the oppressively heavy Hugo's front door. When what to our wondering eyes did appear, but a bright red cinquecento (Fiat 500) and we began to cheer! This car, more than any other current or former automotive symbol of Italy makes Juliet and I immediately happy and nostalgic for Italia.

We were just standing in the valet lot of Hugo's waiting on our car and admiring the cinquecento when out of the castle door came a gang of 4 good ol' boys. The 4 men were at least 6' tall, wearing grey Hugo Boss-type trousers, white pressed Oxford shirts, loosened ties (and jaws). The first two gentlemen (the younger 2 of the 4) gave their valet tickets to valets (in uniform) while the older 2 of the men (one very pudgy and the other very tall and burly) stumbled a bit near the Fiat 500 as if they could not have possibly seen a car so small that was smack in front of them.

Juliet and I, dazed by Mezcal and the cinquecento only noticed the men as the tall one approached me and attempted to hand me his valet ticket:

Me: (clearly caught off guard and slow to bring my gaze from the bright red car) uhhhm, I am not the valet

Tall Guy: well, how was I supposed to know that, with you wearing those thongs!

Me: Excuse me?

TG: How should I know you aren't the valet, with you wearing those shoes and standing by the door?

Me: Oh, wow, no we were just admiring the car here..

TG: (cutting me off) what car?

Me: The one right in front of you that you and your friend nearly fell over on your way out the door

TG: Are you going to get my car or not?

(by now, our car was waiting for us and Juliet was looking at me with that "please get in the car NOW look)

Me: I told you, I am not the valet

TG: So you came in this restaurant wearing thongs? That's disgusting (slurring the last bit of the word disgusting)

(Fat buddy walking up to his friend now)

Me: What an appropriate term!

Fat Buddy: Come on Josh, we can get our own car, I got the keys from the cabinet

Valet: (walking up now and speaking to Fat Buddy) esscuse me sir, not your keysss

FB: I'll be Goddamned!

TG: (to me) let this asshole get our car, just make sure he wipes his toes first

Me: You're a dick!

TG: Just not sure why I have to see people dressed like you when I am conducting bidness in this restaurant

Valet: Not your keyss

FB: well whose are they Juan Valdez?

Me: OK, this is bullshit, we are leaving

TG: Get my CAR!

(At this time I pretty much lose it)

Me: grabbing the keys to the wrong car from Fat Buddy and tossing them to the actual valet) You guys get your car and move on and stop harassing the staff

TG: Ohhhh, now you are part of the staff

Me: No, I am just trying to be cool here

Fat Buddy: (to me)or what...Motherfucker?!(standing just in front of the Fiat 500)

Me: (shoving fat buddy across the front of the hood!)

The Fat Buddy stumbles and falls back onto the Fiat 500 with a loud thud and then rolls off sideways to the ground as his enormous belt buckle scratches the red paint to the metal on the car. The Tall Guy runs to his friend and bends over to offer assistance just as the Valet plants a full-fledged goal kick to his face!

At that point I was certain the scene could not be more surreal when the giant door swung open and Malcolm Gladwell along with our bartender ran out and engaged all of us.

Gladwell: That is my brand new fucking CINQUECENTO!

Me: (out of breath)Malcolm, oh my God, I am so sorry, but these racists assholes provoked this!

Gladwell: (crazy surprised) Michael, what the hell, are you stalking me?

TG: (getting to his feet and slightly bloodied) Who the hell is this clown? Nice hair hippie

Bartender: Thees eez Malcolm Gladwell, he wrote the Teeping Point

TG: That was a real piece of shit

Gladwell: Go get fucked redneck!

Valet: I keel theese muther-fuucker!

Bartender: I call the poleez

Fat Buddy: I am filing assault charges

Gladwell: I am filing vandalism charges

Me: I am getting the fuck out of here! (grabbing Juliet and jumping in the car)

Fat Buddy: (running at my car) You'll pay for this!

Juliet: Vaffanculo Biggot! (as she spits a mezcal wad right in Fat Buddy's face)

Gladwell: (yelling as we peel out of the parking lot) This is not the kind of research I was expecting....fuck you HOUSEWRIGHT!!

Juliet and I made it home and opened a bottle (750ml) of Affligem Trippel all the while expecting the cops to knock on our door at any minute while we slowly sipped the genuine Belgian gold. The cops never showed, nor did I ever hear from Sean Beck, so Hugo's must not have been too pissed at us.

Three days later while I was enjoying a macchiato at Catalina, I received a text from Malcolm Gladwell:

What about my cinquecento?...asshole

CONGRATS SEAN BECK! :-)