So, I’ve been to Marfa before. I get that it’s a groovy little town. But the true emphasis should be on LITTLE, not GROOVY. And never is the littleness more apparent than on a Monday night.
We rolled in a bit early in the evening, checked into our groovy little hotel (one of three: the old grande dame, the hip redo and the motel at the edge of town). Pretty much everything in town was closed. Sidewalks were deserted. It was kind of like visiting a movie set when they weren’t filming. It looked like cool shit went down there, but you just couldn’t prove it.
I was also a little taken aback by the South Congress-ization of it all. It really felt like a little piece of Austin tucked into a desolate corner of Texas. Cool, but incongruous.
Only two of the town’s restaurants were open on Monday. Jett's Grill at the Paisano Hotel (named after Jett Rink, the antagonist of Giant) and Pizza Paradise, a hip gas station conversion. We opted for pizza, since Gardog had heard not-so-great things about Jett’s and we didn’t feel like ponying up a bunch of money for a mediocre meal in the middle of nowhere.
“We ran out of pizza at 5:30.”
Huh? How does one “run out of pizza?” Isn’t there a grocery store right down the street? Apparently the Wagon Train from Italy didn't arrive until Tuesday.
Fortunately, there was a Dairy Queen a half-block from the hotel. One Hungr-Bustr and a bottle of good wine later (we brought the wine), life was back to normal.
Next time I go to Marfa, it will be on a weekend. With friends.