Western Warehouse has everything you'd expect: boots, hats, belts and belt buckles, jeans, boots, those collarless shirts Garth Brooks favored for a while and the loud, starched-stiff shirts loved by Brooks and Dunn. But it also has tiny Wranglers for mini-cowboys and cowgirls, tank tops and slogan tees for teen rodeo queens, Western-style tuxedo jackets and those polyester pants the indie-rock boys wear with their Converses. Not to mention the racks and racks of jeans and one of the largest selections of Levis, with stacks of styles and colors in dozens of sizes. The store--a warehouse in stature not just name--suits more styles than Billy Bob's casual. Even we found a shirt (with piping and pearl snaps, no less), which was about as likely as LeAnn Rimes recording an album to outsell Blue.
OK, so it's more than "health food," but then that just shouldn't count against it. Our weekend ritual now consists of: Wake up at 8:30 (a.m., that is), throw on some shorts (our own, someone else's, whatever), get into the car and get to Central Market before the doors part at 9, thus allowing in the millions (OK, dozens) who line up to take control of the 50,000-square-foot store before it's overrun with the heathens. We'll admit it: We're foodies, though we so loathe the term (don't even know what it means, actually); we're addicts, freaks, junkies for what the H-E-B folks are pushing. We'll spend an hour that turns into two, an afternoon that turns into a weekend in this place, and still we'll never uncover all it has to offer; we return for what we need, never stopping to ponder there are millions of items we don't need but merely crave (say, the tub of roasted garlic cloves for sale in the to-go area; man, our breath stinks this weekend). Some suggestions: the fresh Southwestern tortillas just off the grill, the black-pepper-marinated olives, the smoked cheddar cheeses, the French hams in the deli area, the Russian rye breads, the prosciutto-and-pepper baguette, the Australian beer, the star fruit, the dried peppers that sell for $50 a pound (all you need is but a few cents' worth), the champagne grapes, the live oysters and clams, the breakfast sausage, the...mmmmmmm, sausage. For once, an ad campaign lives up to its claims: Tom Thumb and Whole Foods are grocery stores; this is heaven, paradise, nirvana. And did we mention the cooking classes, the guest chefs (Naked and otherwise), the tours, the private meeting rooms, the On the Run fun that makes Eatzi's look like, well, Marty's? No? We meant to, but our mouths were stuffed with blue crab claws and tapenade; sorry 'bout that.
If you can't afford that summer getaway you've been dreaming about and are weary of grilling chicken and burgers, plan something different after a visit to a grocery that takes you to another world. You can shop for everything from pork ears to chicken feet, pickled cabbage to duck eggs. The seafood selection is remarkable (tilapia, milkfish, China grouper and squid). Might want to take home some Wei-Chaun dumplings for the right appetizer and plan to spend time looking over the wide variety of exotic spices (ever try dried lily flower?) and teas. Talk about fun shopping. They're open daily from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m.
With the holidays quickly approaching (by which we mean our birthday), you might wanna stop by the Ridge--the self-proclaimed "home décor and craft marketplace," which just sends a tingle up the spines of men everywhere--to load up on immortal wreaths and other flowers made of silk and synthetic material. From pottery to potpourri, from party goods to pictures and posters (for frames and, yes, you sad souls without family photos to fill them), from candles to curtains, this chain store has generous amounts of decently priced crap to make any dorm room or any mansion feel like Martha Stewart went hog-wild while blindfolded. And we mean that as a compliment: When we're not tricking up our house with the latest Todd Oldham trinket from Target, we're at Garden Ridge, wondering how we spent $124 on candles that smell like roses and feet.