What to Drink: Pimm's

Summer's ending. It's cooling down, and, in the South, that means that it's time to vacate the air conditioning for the patio for one last summer cocktail. The SG endorses a Pimm's No. 1 Cup. Dating back to the mid-19th century, Pimm's is a gin-based liquor involving quinine and herbs. Pimm's is one of the two official drinks of Wimbledon (along with Champagne), and it's probably one of the most under appreciated drinks on earth. The traditional (read: common) Pimm's cocktail is Pimm's and ginger ale or 7up with a cucumber and lemon. Try this: mix a shot or two of Pimm's with... well... anything. It's one of the most versatile liquors around. Here are two recipes worth trying:

Pour Over a Collins glass full of ice:

1 1/2 oz. Pimm's
1 oz. Lemon Juice
1/2 oz. Key Lime Juice
1 oz. Simple Syrup

Stir and Fill with soda
Stir again and garnish with a cucumber and lemon

or

Pour Over a Collins glass full of ice:

2 oz. Pimm's
5 dashes Peychaud's Bitters (A New Orleans classic)
Fill with a blackberry soda (Izze works best) and garnish with an orange

Here's a link to an incredibly snobby, but accurate blog on the subject of Pimm's.

Grandma's Apple Pie 2.0

A friend of mine once told me that if you like to drink, you have to like to eat. I think that if you like to eat, you have to like to cook. Thus if you like to drink, you have to like to cook. So, pour yourself a mint julep and get thee to the kitchen.

I like pie (in all of its myriad forms). The two best kinds of pie are Euphemism Pie followed distantly by pecan pie. Bronze medalist? Apple pie. Try this:

White Pepper, Cardamom Apple Pie

First Make the Crust
2 3/4 Cups of Flour
1 Teaspoon Sugar
1 Teaspoon Salt
2 1/4 Sticks of Butter straight from the fridge and cut into tiny pieces
5ish Tablespoons of Ice Water

Put the dry ingredients and the pieces of butter into a mixing bowl. Blend by hand with a pastry blender or pulse in a food processor (if you're lazy). The mixture should not be smooth. It should remind you of the stuff left at the bottom of a can of nuts when you're done with the pieces worth eating.

Slowly drizzle the Ice Water over the mixture. Using the blade edge of a spatula, slice into the mixture at different angles until it starts to form larger balls. When these balls stick together with slight pressure, you've got enough water. Roll the mixture into two balls and put it in the fridge.

Then Make the Filling

5 Cups Apples (Sweet Ones), cored peeled and sliced.
1/4 to 1 Cup of Sugar depending on how sweet you like it.
1 Teaspoon Vanilla Extract
1/2 Cup of Dark Rum
Juice of 1 Lemon
Healthy Dashes of Cardamom, Coriander, and Cinnamon

Mix it all in a bowl and let it stand.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Then Finish the Crust

Roll the dough out into two flat round sheets. Form one into the pan for a lower crust. Trim the edges off with a paring knife once it's in the pie pan. Cut the other into strips to make a lattice top. You can weave them together if you like, or you can just have one row going one way and one row the other.

Fill and Bake

Pour the liquid off of the filling mixture into a hot saute pan and let it reduce to syrup. Meanwhile, back at the pie, put the apples into the crust. Then, pour the syrup over the apples. Dot the top of the pie with a tablespoon or two of butter chunks. Put the lattice over the top and push the crusts together with your thumb or a fork. Bake it for 20 minutes at 425 degrees. Turn it down to 350, and bake for another 20-30 minutes or until a rich bubbly fruit syrup starts bubbling up over the lattice.

Take it out, and let it cool for a few hours.

Eat it with a healthy serving of Eiswein or Trokenbeerenauslese from Germany (Dr. Hugo Thanisch or Wegeler from the Bernkasteler Doctor Vineyard if you can find it).

What to Drink: Mint Julep

Summer is here, or at least April is. In the South that's good enough. This means it's mint juelp time. This is the ultimate in refreshing, intoxicating, and distinctly Southern beverages. These used to be the staple of many a Southern club and hotel, but in recent years they don't usually bother. It's best to have pewter or silver tumblers for these, but a standard highball glass will do. For the Bourbon (or Tennessee Whiskey) I suggest anything that you like that you wouldn't necessarily drink by itself. I like Maker's Mark, Gentleman Jack, or Knob Creek. Save the Blanton's for sippin' whiskey.

Fill the glass 1/3 full with crushed ice;
Drop 5 mint leaves into the glass;
Bruise them with a muddler or a spoon until they're broken but not mush;
Fill the remainder of the glass with crushed ice;
Add 1 1/2 oz. (1 shot) good Bourbon or Tennessee Whiskey;
Add 1 oz. simple syrup;
Stir;
Fill the glass with soda water;
Stir again and garnish with a mint sprig.

Do. Not. Do.

"Doga combines massage and meditation with gentle stretching for dogs and their human partners," proclaims the NYT. Yes, dog yoga. 'Nuff said. Apparently there is still too much money in New York.

What Not To Wear: Trendy Nonsense

The NYT Style Section reviewed Topshop and Topman today. Let's be clear. I like clothes that break molds. I like people who are more interested in how colors and lines actaully work on their own bodies, not in some yuppie's idea of fashion. After all, "fashion" is responsible for the heavily pleated pants and shoulderpads of the 80's. Topshop is just more "fashion" sans style.

Topshop's formula is simple and a good idea on its face. Hire a staff of extremely stylish, fashion forward youngsters. Make them "personal shoppers." Give the personal shopper service with clothes priced like a Banana Republic. Require appointments to keep the store uncrowded and build hype. Sell clothes.

The problem is the obsession with trends. Topshop/Topman declares a "trend" on their website as though they were some hybrid of Winston Churchill and Giorgio Armani.

Following this poor advice will make you look like the orphaned, fopish offspring of Oscar Wilde and Bosie. This is pseudo-astheticism at its worst, the idea that teal cardigans can be cool if only everyone is wearing them and putting them together with skinny pants and Buddy Holly glasses. There is, of course, the insistence that everyone "wears it differently," which is a lie. People notice if two guys wear pink on the same day. Don't think that there's room for more than one polka-dotted dandy in any bar, even any gay bar.

This is the death-knell for hipsterism. Nerd-chic has finally overtaken the mainstream to the degree that the new cool is becoming the old cool. Buy an f-ing made-to-measure shirt and fold your pocket square into an actual square. Then punch the next guy who tries to sell you a teal cardigan.

What to Drink: Broadbent Vinho Verde

Spring is here, and in the South, that means it's about to get hot. Southerners obsess about cold drinks. We love our iced tea, mint juleps, and lemonade (with or without whiskey). We sit on our porches and decks, barbecue everything, and drink heavily. Life is good. Now, most people drink beer on the porch, but the <$10 wine bottle is a frequent visitor as well. It's for occasions like this that I stock a bottle of Broadbent's Vinho Verde. Portuguese wines are generally much better than their price tags indicate, but this stuff could easily stand up to the majority of whites in the under-$20 price range and can usually be found for around $9. Vinho Verde has a slight effervescence, not enough to call it sparkling, but enough to make it interesting. Broadbent's is loaded with citrus fruit and fun. It's a party wine, a wine meant to drink lots of quickly. It has a 9% alcohol content, putting it on the very low end. Vinho Verde, like a number of young, delicate European wines, doesn't travel well. Broadbent remedies this by shipping in a refrigerated container. If you're not sure what to serve with dinner, this is a good bet. It won't offend anything, and the acidity ensures that not much will offend it. Think of this wine as the easiest going company on the planet.

Toolbag of the Day

"I don't know why that's an issue whatsoever," said the House Minority Whip.

Eric Cantor missed Obama's second big primetime news conference for a concert. No big deal. Everybody skips work to go to a concert from time to time. Sometimes you've got grand tier seats at the symphony or the opera. Maybe TV on the Radio is in town, or you managed front row at Radiohead. Hell, if George Clinton's in town, screw it, go.

Cantor missed work to see Brittany Spears.

His daughter did not go with him.

Toolbag.

What to Wake Up With: Quetzal Coffee

Memphis and San Francisco seem to have little in common besides Democratic representation in Congress and a lot of drug addicts, but that's not where the similarities stop. Both cities are home to branches of the Quetzal coffee shop. Quetzal used to buy exclusively green (unroasted) organic, fair-trade coffees, roast them on-site, and blend them. They eventually wanted to order coffee from a wider variety of places that didn't have the fair-trade or organic certifications in the interests of producing the best tasting cup. They may have accomplished that. The Quetzal House Blend is probably the best coffee blend I've ever had. It's Guatemalan, Sumatran, Ethiopian, and a fourth that varies according to what's available and interesting. Right now I beleive the fourth is a French Roast of some sort, but it's been Brazilian, Zimbabwean, and innumerable other things. Quetzal's coffees have a balance evocative of French wines. They're pleasantly acidic with a full and complex flavor. At about $10 per pound, these coffees are about the same price as most Starbucks single-origin coffees, and the roast is infinitely better.

Shop at: http://www.quetzal.org

The Great Shave-Off

Trumper versus Taylor. It sounds like the caption of an old English common law case, but despite the familiarity that many members of the bar have with these two, it's not from law school. George F. Trumper's and Taylor of Old Bond Street are two of the most famous barbers in London, and both are global purveyors of fine shaving products. The two shops were opened in the late 1800's (Taylor in 1854, Trumper's in 1875). Both shops are in London's West End, and both historically cater to the affluent gentry. Trumper's was awarded the Royal Warrant under Queen Victoria and all five subsequent British monarchs, but while that denotes prestige, it does not necessarily denote superior quality. Here, we're only concerning ourselves with their shaving creams.

Three factors go into rating a line of shaving creams.

1. Lather: Is it glycerin based? Does it effectively protect your face?
2. Scent: Does the line offer a variety of scents? Are they natural? Calming? Invigourating?
   
3. Price: Is it worth it?

Lather:
Glycerin-based shave creams are the only shaving creams worth using. They must be lathered with a brush (Badger-hair only!). Both Trumper's and Taylor produce glycerin-based creams that blend well with water to create a foamy, creamy lather. Both lines protect your face, and both lather quickly and fully.
Winner: Tie
Scent:
In the U.S. we're used to aerosol gels and creams that smell like chemical deodorant. Screw that. Rose, Sandalwood, Lime, Almond, and African Violets are just a few of the scents available from finer shaving shops. Trumper's and Taylor offer an enormous range of scents, not a one of which invokes the chemical plant. I much prefer my morning shave to either soothe or invigourate me with natural scents. Both lines offer truly excellent scents of comparable quality, but Taylor offers eleven different varieties where Trumper's has seven.
Winner: Taylor (for variety)
Price:
Shaving with quality shave products doesn't really break the bank. Shave soaps and creams lathered with a brush can last much longer than aerosol cans. (And they're not crap.) You'll shave some off of the final bill, though, if you buy Taylor's products. An ordinary jar of Taylor shave cream is a little over half the price of a jar of Trumper's. That's a big premium on that Royal Warrant.

Winner: Taylor (by a long shot)
Winner Overall: Tie

Yeah, I know, I know. Taylor won two out of three, and the third was a tie. How can it be an overall tie? Because being awarded the Royal Warrant from six consecutive monarchs is, in fact, badass.

What to Drink: Hendricks Gin

The bottle looks like medicine... or snakeoil. You wonder if a hundred years ago they claimed that it cured syphilis, and you're sure that it was at least available. You're wrong. It does not cure syphilis (damn), and it was first made since you stopped needing a fake ID. It's barely even gin, but, damn, it's good. It is, technically, a gin thanks to the quantity of juniper in the mix, but the rose petals and cucumber in the infusion give it an elegant and somewhat wild character. There are more traditional gins in the world, but none so fascinating. The best way to serve it is chilled, up, with a slice of cucumber. This gin should rarely be adultered with tonic. Go for soda instead. If you feel the need to mitigate the strong, brash flavor, make a Badminton Cup. This cocktail comes to us by way of New York's Pegu Club and is only slightly modified.

• 1 1/4 oz. Hendricks Gin
• the juice of 1 whole lemon and/or lime (your preference)
  
• 5 leaves of mint
• 1 slice of cucumber
• 1/2 oz. simple syrup
• soda water
• highball glass
• rocks

Muddle the mint and cucumber in a shaker. Add the gin. Pour in the lemon juice and simple syrup. Stir. Pour over the rocks in a highball, and fill with soda water. Give it a quick stir and garnish with a sprig of mint stuck through the center of a cucumber slice. Serve on the porch in hot weather.

What to Smoke: Rocky Patel

Cigar smoking is among the most refined of habits. Like fine wine they take time to appreciate. They must be savored and allowed to rest. They have depth and dimension that escapes a novice. There are dozens of good cigar makers, but Rocky Patel can be counted among the absolute best. The decade (pictured) is my favorite for their rich flavor and easy draw, but they're a limited, anniversary edition and increasingly hard to come by. Patel makes some outstanding vintage cigars as well, but their Edge maduros are excellent and a great value at around $5 a stick. They have a certain richness and spice, a medium to easy draw, and a supple feel in the hand. If you're going to irritate everyone around you at the bar, these are the cigars to do it with.

What to Drink: Pierre Ferrand

Drinking Cognac may seem a bit too aristocratic for the recession. Even the low-end mainstream Cognacs are a bit pricey, and they're not really that great. Remy Martin doesn't start to get good until you get to the $45-a-shot XO. By contrast, Pierre Ferrand makes an entire line of Cognacs that provide twice the quality for half the price. The Ambre 1er Cru Cognac is delicate, supple, and bright with no harsh characteristics. It's not very complex, but you can't have everything for around $10 a shot. Ferrand's Cigare is specially blended to compliment outstanding smokes, and the Ancestrale has an average age of 70 years. Ferrand makes many more Congacs including single vintages, cask-strength, and blends of varying price and quality. Now that you've been laid off as your entire division is downsized, you can drink your sorrows away in style.

This Can't Be Good

Though the recession has brought some interesting trends and price corrections, not all is well. Apparently the idea that coffee is a beverage made from water infused with roasted, freshly ground coffee beans through either the drip or press process has receded below the line of good taste. Starbucks has announced Via, a new instant coffee that it insists is "just as good" as its store coffee. Perhaps this is true, given that Starbucks coffee is really not very good, but this could launch a disturbing trend of insisting that cheap and fast is good. This is all part of Howard Schultz's plan to save the $4 coffee vendor from the recession. Frankly, I'm never in so much of a hurry that I'll go in for Insta-Bucks. Folks, Starbucks has been destroying the world's taste for good coffee for years. Now, having beaten the planet into caffeine-addled submission, they're going for the killing blow. Duck.

Note to DVF: Rich Hippies Suck

I just finished watching the highlights from Diane von Furstenburg's Fashion Week show. Blah. The whole line desperately harkens back to the Summer of Love, and I can't imagine anyone except retired former hippies wearing it. In the interview she demonstrates how fully she has failed to grasp the zeitgeist of the post-credit-crunch world when she talks about her whole line being about "freedom, the freedom to mix a big bag with an evening gown." Society is in a state of hangover after a huge bender. Carrying ostentatious DVF shoulder bags with this nonsense is like curing your hangover with a wake-and-bake. It might feel good, but don't plan to be taken seriously... by anyone. The worst part is that I envision this line being worn mostly by people who liked this crap when it was first popular (i.e. people as old as Diane von Furstenburg herself). I just hope they don't try to bring back "free love" with it.

Let's Get Depressed

Fashion Week has come and gone, and it's looking "depressing." Mark Jacobs new line is loaded with bias-cut dresses evocative of '20's and '30's couture. The styles range from seemingly Orientalist-inspired fabrics and designs to this faux-dowdy Depression-era style worn by Jamie Bochert. Jacobs is all about little, round hats this year, very '30's. And, though his fabrics are all fabulous, there's a great deal to evoke the home-made clothes of the Depression both in the fabrics themselves and the design.

The New York Post recently ran photos of a leggy NYC fashonista in paper boy inspired regalia: baggy, high-waisted pants, a boyish, collared blouse, a tight-fitting vest, and a tweed ivy cap.





All-in-all, people are at least looking to the Depression for inspiration, if not totally flocking back to it. I've been attached to these styles for years. I keep one high-waisted, 3-piece suit that belonged to my grandfather to wear on occasion, and I regularly sport a tweed ivy cap. I'm quite happy to see the waistcoat make a big comeback, inspired, no doubt, by both the recession and the success of Mad Men.






William Rast (Justin Timberlake and Trace Ayala) made a fascinating debut. I've never been a big fan of Timberlake, but I like his clothing label. He and I are the same age and grew up in the same small town near Memphis, and I have vague memories of a young Trace Ayala, but the similarity probably ends there. They went west, and I went east.

As much as I don't like West Coast style sensibilities, William Rast does something very un-California and successfully invokes the barbeque-laden town where we all three grew up. The northern part of Shelby County (Memphis metro area) was quite rural when we were young, and it's laden with a "white-trash" element.
Back then there was a Naval Air Base that gave the town a low-down military feel and skanky character.
William Rast takes hold of that dirtiness and twists it into something brilliant. In the brown jacket and waistcoat (above-left), Johan Lindeberg (the designer) has really grasped something from the antiquated Southern style that I love so much. This stuff is part gentleman part trailer-trash, and it works so very, very well. In an interview at his President's Day show, JT referred to this stuff as stylistically part of what he called a "new leadership... new era... new culture... a new America." Like most things New and American, this draws on much older ideas, but unlike most things New and American, William Rast draws on those things most quintessentially American and Southern and elevates them.

And the NY Times Gets It!

The recession is on, and that means that we don't care about the hot new pinot that will send us into bankruptcy.


The Times, which has been teetering on "getting it" for months, finally wrote on obscure Italian varietals under $20. I've been touting most of these grapes and regions (if not always these specific wines) since moving back stateside from Italy in 2002. I lived near Soave and Valpolicella, and I drank good whites and reds from those regions nearly every day. The article might slightly overstate the brilliance of some of these wines, (Soave is not Chablis, unless we're talking about extremely good Soave and négociant, village Chablis.) but it does not overstate the fact that these wines are great values.

If you can't find these in your town, don't gamble on Italians too much. There's a lot of bad Italian wine out there. Ask around, or find a decent Italian restaurant with a big by-the-glass selection. If you comment here, I'll probably be able to find something that you can get your hands on.

Geithner's Fashion Sense

MagnificentBastard.com recently posted this comment about Timothy Geithner's choice to wear a four-in-hand knot with a spread collar.

I can't say that I find that to be the worst thing about this picture. Geithner really shouldn't go for the "artfully disheveled" look at all. The four-in-hand can go nicely with a spread collar, if the knot is wrapped enough times to make it fill up some space, but it looks a little devil-may-care for a man trying to project an image of obsessive-compulsive meticulousness.

In this image, Tim's hair, tie, and tax records all imply a sort of artful disheveledness that one wants in their drinking buddy, not the guy who handles the money (all of the money).

+ Charles Tyrwhitt, - Thomas Pink

My recent trip to NYC (a city I love and detest in equal portions) hardly gave me any time for shopping, but the friendly maître d' at a well-known French restaurant tipped me off to a men's clothier with whom I was previously unfamiliar. Charles Tyrwhitt is a Jermyn Street shirt seller a la Thomas Pink. It differs in that CT is a bit more conservative (read: They don't sell socks with pink, winged skulls or hideous orange anything.) and a lot less pricey (read: They don't try to charge you $30 for socks with pink, winged skulls.).


I've been a longtime fan of Pink. Some of their fabrics do an excellent job of blending classic with trendy. That said, in the past couple of years they've become increasingly bizarre. Their staples are still staples, but most of those staples can be custom made for less money. My trip to their NYC store on 6th at 44th was simply bizarre. In an economy spiralling downward (and in a city loaded with sales), Pink's sales reps insisted that everything was going well. The prices reflected the reality of the middle of the decade, not now. Where their style then had been to focus on a sort of flashy Britishness, now they were hawking garish oddities. The winged skull pattern was on everything. I purchased what must have been the most conservative red tie in the store (a replacement for a staple tie). While browsing briefly at socks the shopgirl insisted that the perfect accent to my red and burgundy striped tie would be a pair of pink socks with the flying monstrosity logoed on the sides. It was just a pathetic attempt to sell anything. I felt as though I was in some sort of ultra-luxe Hot Topic. That's two bad Pink experiences in as many months.

By contrast Charles Tyrwhitt (which only has stores in London and NYC, but does a brisk mail order business) was fabulous. They were having an end-of-season sale that made my eyes bulge. I rarely buy non-custom shirts anymore, but for $29 (down from $100+) I bothered to grab a couple. They don't do custom in-store tailoring on shirts, but for the price I didn't mind. The place was filled with outstanding ties, quality shoes, suits, topcoats, formal attire, etc. Genuinely, it would be an excellent place to put together a "my first wardrobe" from white-tie to casual. It was like Jos. A. Bank's clever English cousin. The women's section was small, but nice. Mrs. SG was rather pleased with her prizes, which I wouldn't have been able to manage except for the phenomenal staff. A wonderful sales rep helped me pick out sizes and styles for her. The staff took lots of time and made sure everything was perfect, and I really appreciated that when everything turned out to fit Mrs. SG perfectly.

So, Charles Tyrwhitt replaces Thomas Pink for anything basic, and I won't be wanting anything unique from Pink until those little skulls fly away forever.

What Not to Wear

This is among the best lists of toolbag attire I've ever seen.

I'm especially fond of avoiding Crocs and, well, any of this other shit. Please, though, unless you're Bruce Campbell, you cannot pull off a Tommy Bahama shirt.

Bluetool

Congratulations to Details for cleverly coining "Bluetool."

n. A person who wears a Bluetooth earpiece at any time other than while driving.
Provenance: Annoyed pedestrians
Usage: "The bluetool behind me on the sidewalk was telling the loudest story about who he hooked up with the night before."

This ranks with "Prostitot" (a semi-pubescent or younger girl dressed for a frat party) for best hybrid perjoratives.

The Handkerchief

The absolute simplest change that most men can make to their wardrobe to invoke the sartorial spirit is to wear a handkerchief, often referred to as a pocket square. I'm fond of referring to them as handkerchiefs because it implies a useful aspect, and I enjoy utility. There are two main categories of pocket squares, the flashy, silk square that serves as an accompaniment to a tie and the plain white handkerchief (cotton or linen) worn in either a three or four point fold or an actual square that leaves a straight line over the breast pocket.

I dramatically prefer white handkerchiefs in most circumstances, but the former certainly has a bit of panache. The biggest problems with the silk jobs are price and flexibility. A decent silk pocket square runs somewhere around $50, and since you'll likely (and hopefully) match it to your tie you'll probably need quite a few of them. There are pocket squares that are reversible or have slightly different colors on each quadrant, but the level of versatility that this provides is minimal.

Opting for a white handkerchief instead saves a tremendous amount of money and provides a modicum of utility. If your date turns up with a runny nose or running mascara, you have the solution. Perhaps more importantly, it gives the impression that you paid attention to detail without requiring that you paid more than a few dollars to the clothing shop. I have two types that I wear regularly, linen and cotton. The linen handkerchiefs cost about $15, are heavier and naturally stiffer. They're good for the point folds and work in larger breast pockets well. The cotton handkerchiefs are cheaper (as little as $5 for 3), and they can be folded into neat rectangles and pressed with an iron. They aren't stiff (unless you starch them) and need to be folded to be just smaller than the pocket. You can cheat by folding them around an index card cut to just a little taller than the pocket.

Note: Pocket squares do not make up for a lack of neckwear or genocide.

Are You Being Served?

No. I've just returned from a quick trip to Texas including a shopping trip to their ultra-luxe mall, The Galleria. Upon my return from the Republic, the customs agent in Arkansas asked me if I had anything to declare. Channeling Guy Ritchie, "Yeah, don't go to Texas." The Galleria was everything bad about a mall and everything bad about Texas with little to redeem it other than a good variety of stores.

Let me first say that I have a strong preference for boutique stores that are in downtown areas or even in shopping centers over a nearly identical store in a mall. However, I do like to look around Saks, and that usually means a mall. There are, however, malls that I don't mind. The Phipps and Lenox malls in Atlanta are quite nice with a good selection of stores. Phipps has a Saks as its anchor, and (quite literally) across the street Lenox has a Nordstrom's as its anchor. The smaller shops play to the anchor stores' crowds, as do the restaurants. It can be a nice shopping experience, but that isn't because of the mall aspect. It's in spite of it. The people make those malls great. The service at the stores in Lenox and especially Phipps is beyond reproach. I've had especially wonderful help in the Hugo Boss store, and I trust the staff there so much that I'll occasionally call and have gifts shipped with just a brief description of what I want to send. If I have to set foot in a mall anywhere, it's going to be that one.

Contrast Dallas. Upon arrival at the mall I was greeted by an exceptionally superfluous line of hispanic men in red jumpsuits and Santa hats. It was January 3. These were apparently the valet staff for the mall, all of whom waved me forward. I never did really understand where I was supposed to valet or why I would want to valet park with hundreds of open parking spaces only about 10 yards away from the driveway. Of course, those were all reserved for the valets, so I had to drive around until I found a space. As I was arriving at about 6 PM, they must have expected a post-dinner Saturday night rush on the Versace store, to the tune of around a thousand reserved parking spaces.

After I finally got in, I was equally irritated. With the exception of some fine help at Nordstrom's (an oddity, if you ask me), I was apalled at the service in every shop I visited. The most attrocious example (mainly because it encompassed every other complaint) was at Thomas Pink. I have loved going into Pink stores for years, and despite the fact that I increasingly wear custom shirts, I still buy from them when I have a chance. Pink makes one of the best off-the-rack shirts available, and they carry wonderful accessories. In every other Pink store I have visited, even during the busy periods, the service is attentive and informed. Not so in Dallas. The staff consisted of one man and one woman, both in their early twenties, and the store was bustling with one (1) customer besides myself.

I say that there was one customer because despite the fact that there were two people in the store, they were a couple and the woman was clearly the customer. Her mate was apparently an excuse to buy men's clothes. I saw a lot of this in Dallas, women dressing their men like Ken dolls. Sometimes it's cute, but the frequency (and obvious extravagance) made it simply seem pathetic. Dallas, it seems, is a town of good-ol-boys with piles of oil money and cheerleaders.

I was at Pink to buy clothes for my own girl (who can, in fact, dress herself quite well), and, as such, was hanging about the women's section of the store. Pink uses UK sizing, which meant nothing to me for women's clothes. As such, I needed the shopgirl. Enter the shopboy. As he approached after about 15 minutes of watching me look at women's clothes, it occurred to me that he probably wouldn't know the women's sizes. After all, Pink is primarily a men's store, and he probably had little call for translating sizes for the women who obviously did all of the purchasing in Dallas. I was correct. Despite the presence of a chart, he still could not advise me on converting from American to British sizing and was especially baffled at the question "How do these run?" He was much more concerned that I learn that there would be no returns on sale merchandise (strange since virtually the whole store was on clearance). After returning to his co-worker to clear up the sizing, I was then left to my own devices with no advice, no helpful suggestions, and generally no service. Odd given that I was clearly carrying bags full of merchandise from other stores, most of it women's. Maybe I smelled bad. I had been driving past cattle farms for what seemed like days.

Upon leaving the mall I was treated to my final Dallas moment. Walking out past the jumpsuited hispanic Santas, I was approached by a woman somewhere in her forties. She was with another women her own age and a gaggle of nineteen-ish girls. "Would you mind takin' a silly picture of us?" I agreed. The girls promptly lined up with the woman in front. I was unclear about how this would work given that she was taller than most of them and was wearing some fairly high heels. Then I understood. She looked over her shoulder and said, "Ready girls?!" In response two of the teeny boppers kicked their beheeled legs into the air somehow balancing on one 4-6 inch heel as they held the toe of their vertical leg above their head. The forty-ish woman then, without any apparent effort dropped into the splits. All I could think was: "She's going to destroy her shoes on the concrete. Wait? Should I be turned on? No, no, definitely not." I snapped the picture and left... quickly.