Inside My Table #90 | Excerpt
Galveston Springing Back to Life, Slowly
By Laurel Brubaker Calkins
Mercy, that calendar can’t be right. Seems I just put away the Christmas tree. And now, with the turn of a calendar page, here comes the start of hurricane season –- staggering at me like some demented slasher-film villain. Then again, it’s been so warm for so long that in some ways it already feels more like summer than spring.
The very thought of all the heat that lies ahead of us makes me want to run -– NOW -– straight down to Galveston, to enjoy island breezes under a ruffling palapa, soothing myself with a cool beverage and a skewer of grilled shrimp.
But with visions of the pummeling Hurricane Ike gave our island neighbor just a few short months ago still fresh, the big question in my mind is: Is there a Galveston to go back to?
Driving in Galveston off the causeway, it’s a relief to see that the marina finally snared all the lost boats that washed onto the medians after Ike slammed ashore September 13. The Mystic Mariner was the last to go, hauled off around Christmastime by some Texas Sea Aggie who wanted to refurbish and live on it while completing his degree at the A&M branch on Galveston.
Clearly, the seawall did its job of holding back the crashing surf. You remember what it looked like, that afternoon before the storm came ashore, exploding across our TV screens like artillery blasts, giving us the first taste of what lay in store, the first sign that Ike was going to be the real deal after all. Those waves gave me the chills -– although I secretly cheered when Geraldo slipped and almost got sucked out to sea – because I knew much of the island simply couldn’t take that kind of pounding.
Miraculously, most of the restaurants and hotels lining Galveston’s greatly diminished beach suffered slight damage. There are new roofs in places, lots of new paint and signage. To a surprisingly comforting degree, Seawall Boulevard is its same-old tacky same-old, from Mario’s Seawall Italian on 7th, through the Landry’s compound at the San Luis on 53rd, all the way down to Tortuga Cantina at 61st.
Sure, the Balinese Room, Murdoch’s gift shop, Hooters and my creaky, beloved 61st Street Fishing Pier are gone, except for forlorn rows of pilings jutting out of the water. Still, you had to love that crack someone allegedly shouted from the Poop Deck at the height of the storm, as Hooter’s orange-rimmed roof peeled off and flew past: “Hooters is now officially topless!”
The best news I can tell you is that virtually the entire seawall is open and waiting for you right now:
The scrumptious lunchtime buffet is back at Mario’s (628 Seawall, 409-763-1693), complete with all you can eat of those amazing wood-fired pizzas. The Cajun soft-shell crabs and fried oyster po’boys are in season at Benno’s on the Beach (1200 Seawall, 409-762-4621), just as spicy and messy as ever. Fat, succulent oysters are back on the menu at Gaido’s and Casey’s (3828 & 3802 Seawall, respectively, 409-762-9625), although the kitchen now trucks them in from Louisiana because Ike wiped out local oyster beds. The gyro salad and lemony avgolemono soup are still killing it at Olympia Grill (4908-B Seawall, 409-766-1222). And the burgers and the view from The Spot (3204 Seawall, 409-621-5237), one the first Galveston restaurants back in business, are still the best on the island.
Further down the beach, past the battered western end of the seawall, the situation is grimmer. Houses are still tilted like doll toys in places, and substantial pockets of debris remain. The water is alarmingly closer to the road in spots, and at high tide, parts of the beach disappear altogether.
Forgive me, as I pause to light a candle in front of what used to be the Seaside Bistro, home to some of Galveston’s most memorable meals. The cinderblock building housing the tiny cafe was blasted completely through from front to back by Ike, and nobody answers when you call the Bistro’s old number. Weird karma, that Ike would take a charming spot like Seaside Bistro out completely, while Woody’s biker bar across the street, sitting right on the beach, is still rocking on after losing just a few stairs and some railing. That Mother Nature is one fickle babe.
Turning away from the beach, especially winding through the Offats Bayou neighborhoods by Schlitterbahn and Moody Gardens -– both of which are largely reopen, by the way –- it is clear that the seawall was no magic shield. While the concrete structure protected the buildings on top of it, it could do nothing to thwart the inexorable rise of the storm tide behind it. The island took on three to 12 feet of flood water, depending on where you were.
The closer you were to the back bay -– where downtown and the Strand are -– the deeper the water. Most of the Strand got a full measure of water damage. Some buildings -– like Colonel Bubbies, which is fighting back to life at 2202 Strand – were doubly cursed, losing their roofs to the wind so that water poured down from above as well as flooding up from below.
Unlike Ike’s passage through Houston, where the city was beat nearly to death by the wind and the trees, Galveston simply drowned. Scattered businesses have reopened, valiantly, almost defiantly, and more are working hard at getting back on their feet. But it will be a long time before the island’s historic district recovers its former sass and swagger.
That said, there are more lights shining in downtown’s darkness each passing day. Several dozen tourist and gift shops reopened in time for Mardi Gras. Lots of signs taped to front doors and windows promise the business will reopen by spring, or Spring Break, summer at the latest, or simply “Soon.”
Yaga Cafe (2314 Strand, 409-762-6676) slid in under the tag and reopened in February, just in time for the parades. So did Bacchus Wine Bar (2404 Strand, 409-765-9463), and Tsunami (2314 Strand, 409-770-0999), where you can contemplate a streak of blue paint on the bar mirror that marks the high-water line way over your head. The 1894 Opera House left its high-watermark intact, too, like a proud battle scar about eight feet above the sidewalk.
El Jardin (413 24th, 409-763-9289) is once again dishing up mouthwatering Mexican breakfasts. And I have to say that Willie G’s at Pier 21 (409-732-3030) and Fisherman’s Wharf at Pier 22 (409-765-5703) on Harborside are in better shape than they’ve been in years, both in the kitchen and out in front. There’s a big sign flapping over the Harbor House location that will shelter the new Olympia Grill, a clone of the popular seawall establishment. The Kriticos family indicates its Harborside Olympia should open sometime in May, probably.
We may have to wait a little longer to learn the fate of La King’s Confectionery (2323 Strand), famous for churning out the sweet treats my sunburned children craved on the drive home after a long day at the beach. Peering past the sign taped to its windows, I felt like a kid with my face pressed up against the candy … well, you know.
Same story at the divine Saltwater Grill (2017 Post Office, 409-762-3484), which pledges to still not own a deep fryer when it returns, and at Luigi’s (2328 Strand, 409-763-9036) home of dreamy pastas and decadent cream sauces. They all say they’re coming back as soon as they can.
In the heart of Galveston, north of Broadway, the Original Mexican Cafe (1401 Market, 409-762-6001) tightened its grip on locals’ affections after Ike by ladling up slow-simmered sauces and icy knock-out-punch margaritas to grateful residents camping in their ruined homes nearby.
Grilled veggie burgers and warm goat-cheese salads are back with gusto at the Mosquito Cafe (628 14th, 409-763-1010), if you can consider any place this laid-back as capable of gusto. And the muffins are once again piled high and the omelets and bread-pudding French toast light and fluffy at the Sunflower Bakery & Cafe (506 14th, 409-763-5500).
Sadly, DiBella’s at 1902 31st had only been back open for a few weeks after Ike when a late-January fire torched the second floor, closing this island favorite for what looks to be many more months to come.
I have to confess I haven’t been over there yet, but my heart almost sang to hear that the Stingaree is reborn -– again! –- on Crystal Beach over on Bolivar, where Stingaree Road runs into the Intracoastal Canal (498-684-2731). I’ve got to get over there before their Oysters Jubilee goes out of season.
So, that’s the grand tour, such as it is in Galveston.
Easing back across the causeway to the mainland, I can’t seem to get that yin-yang symbol, the black-and-white circle that illustrates the bittersweet balance of life, out of my mind.
Galveston is a lot like that right now. There’s a lot of despair, and there’s undeniably a long road back for some of the folks down here. But on the other side of the scale, there are plenty of good people striving hard to be happy, keep a positive attitude and rebuild their lives.
So, I say with all sincerity: Become a stimulus-package army of one. Grab your wallet and come plunk yourself down on the positive side of Galveston’s scale. If enough of us do it, and soon enough, and often enough – we might be able to tip the balance. We might just make the difference between success and failure for this place.
Our neighbors need us. If we want our favorite places to survive, it’s up to each of us.
