For a reporter, it’s the easiest thing in the world to pick out the big personalities, the ones who thrive in the spotlight. It’s much harder to notice the people who work behind the scenes, taking care of business. Which explains the fact that, until a couple of months ago, hardly anyone covering Houston restaurants knew much about Manuel Pucha. And why would they?
Bartenders find inspiration for new drinks in all kinds of places. For Elisabeth Forsythe, of San Antonio’s Barbaro restaurant, the recipe for her Peck of Pickled Peppers came out of her garden. After tasting a cranberry liqueur from Portland’s Clear Creek Distillery, Forsythe began to imagine a tangy summer cocktail that combined the liqueur with tequila and a hit of lime juice. Except the lime didn’t work. “Too Cape Cod–y,” she says.
They Want My Soul is Spoon’s eighth record. And there’s perhaps no lousier time to write about a band than eight records into its career. By that point, the band’s backstory—the initial gathering of the members, the early feuds and struggles, the big break that may or may not have led to a big payday—has been told countless times.
In the sprawling backyard of the Houston Foundry, an industrial site turned artists’ studio just north of downtown, 29-year-old Kate dePara looks a bit like a mad scientist. Crouched over twenty yards of fabric spread across the ground, her hands sheathed in sturdy rubber gloves, she applies dye with an assortment of tools—spray bottles, sponges, a bamboo paintbrush, a fork. Nearby, another length of fabric sits in a bucket of steaming-hot water, while others dry on a giant wooden rack.
Texas,” says Jeremy Kandah, “is the most Bitcoin-friendly state in the union.” Kandah, a member of the Austin venture capital group Bit-Angels Network, has his reasons for asserting that the Lone Star State is bullish on the headline-making virtual currency. BitAngels, after all, is in the business of convincing Bitcoin-related start-ups that Texas is where they should be turning for capital.
Sam Rayburn was one of the most powerful Texans of the twentieth century. A Democrat, he was first elected to Congress in 1912, and he represented the Fourth Congressional District, a slice of the blackland prairie of North Texas, for 48 years. He was speaker of the House in every Democrat-controlled Congress from 1940 until his death, in 1961, making him the longest-serving speaker in American history.
Editors' note: Yesterday William Powers, the president of the University of Texas at Austin, submitted his letter of resignation, effective next year. This feature story on Regent Wallace Hall and the ongoing controversy will appear in the August 2014 issue ofTexas Monthly,which will be available on newsstands July 24.
Over the past month, the surge of undocumented immigrants across the U.S.’s southwestern border—many of them unaccompanied minors and young families—has become one of the biggest and most polarizing stories in the country.
When I first met Michael Morton in the spring of 2012, several months after he was formally exonerated, we met for dinner at an Austin steakhouse and talked about his life since his release from prison. Well-mannered, funny, and self-deprecating, he seemed like the world’s most normal guy, hardly someone who had been wrongly convicted of his wife’s murder and incarcerated for 25 years.
It’s been eight years since the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals found that the DA who prosecuted Anthony Graves for capital murder had done something unconscionable: withheld favorable evidence and used false testimony to secure a conviction—a conviction that sent Graves to death row.