cowboy breakfast
Well gosh darn it, I just got home from the Cowboy Breakfast. Amazingly, it was the first one I've ever been to (at least, that I can remember). That's amazing not only because I'm a rather involved San Antonian and I do all that charming community stuff, but also because of the Costanzic lengths I'm capable of going to to get a free meal.
The dealbreaker is, though, that it's so dang early. 5 am to 9am. Not really my hours. But this morning, I was on my way home from an all-night studio affair, and thought, why not head on down to my very first Cowboy Breakfast.
If you're not from here, you might not even be aware that such a thing exists. It originally started, in the deep mists of time, as the coming together of the various trailriders for the Stock Show and Rodeo (which begins this weekend, and which I *have* been to, many times). Somewhere along the way, it turned into a great big breakfast for people who aren't necessarily strictly cowboys, though you do find a high concentration of real-deal cowgear among all the city slickness. I noticed several sets of fringes that could only be worn by people who Mean It; one fella was wearing a hudson's-bay coat, traditional cream with multicolored stripes; and I saw more than a few sets of spurs. More common were the high-school jackets that said things like "Judson FFA." More common still, sweaters and jeans.
You still might not have an idea, if you're not from these parts, how big this thing is: the Guiness folks once counted them serving 19,000 people in a single hour. These days it's right around 50,000 folks for the morning, with breakfast tacos, sausage, potatoes, gravy, biscuits, hot sauce, and hot coffee — what a smell, on a wet winter's day! — accompanied by an Ivesian assault of Tejano and C&W bands on several stages. The event even gets its own edition of the Express-News, whose articles all cover the subject of.... the Cowboy Breakfast.
Now I've got to convince my Catherine to go to the Rodeo. I haven't made it out there in a few years, and she never has; worse, last year we missed Fiesta altogether. We didn't miss it much, though: those bibulous crowds are little match for being naked on a tropical island.
The dealbreaker is, though, that it's so dang early. 5 am to 9am. Not really my hours. But this morning, I was on my way home from an all-night studio affair, and thought, why not head on down to my very first Cowboy Breakfast.
If you're not from here, you might not even be aware that such a thing exists. It originally started, in the deep mists of time, as the coming together of the various trailriders for the Stock Show and Rodeo (which begins this weekend, and which I *have* been to, many times). Somewhere along the way, it turned into a great big breakfast for people who aren't necessarily strictly cowboys, though you do find a high concentration of real-deal cowgear among all the city slickness. I noticed several sets of fringes that could only be worn by people who Mean It; one fella was wearing a hudson's-bay coat, traditional cream with multicolored stripes; and I saw more than a few sets of spurs. More common were the high-school jackets that said things like "Judson FFA." More common still, sweaters and jeans.
You still might not have an idea, if you're not from these parts, how big this thing is: the Guiness folks once counted them serving 19,000 people in a single hour. These days it's right around 50,000 folks for the morning, with breakfast tacos, sausage, potatoes, gravy, biscuits, hot sauce, and hot coffee — what a smell, on a wet winter's day! — accompanied by an Ivesian assault of Tejano and C&W bands on several stages. The event even gets its own edition of the Express-News, whose articles all cover the subject of.... the Cowboy Breakfast.
Now I've got to convince my Catherine to go to the Rodeo. I haven't made it out there in a few years, and she never has; worse, last year we missed Fiesta altogether. We didn't miss it much, though: those bibulous crowds are little match for being naked on a tropical island.
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