Last Concert Cafe News Articles
By GREG MAY
Houston Chronicle
Wednesday, April 3,1991
When 62-year old Elena "Mama" Lopez opened a small Mexican restaurant in 1949 at 1403 Nance, she christened it the Last Concert Cafe to signify this would be her last endeavor.
Lopez, a fragile-looking woman whose photograph hangs in a corner of the restaurant, died in 1985, at the age of 95. But as for the cafe itself, the last concert may be a long time coming.
Every night, the place throbs with live music ranging from gentle folk to gritty rhythm and blues.
In addition, the cafe serves lunch to a crowd that includes burly workers from the warehoused district and corporate executives from downtown.
Under current owner, Dawn Fudge, the rambling, wood-framed establishment has become a venue for local musicians performing original songs. Fudge, 36, agrees to share a cut of bar sales with bands and guarantees a meal for every performer.
"We love this place," said Lupe Olivarez, a wiry singer with The Basics, a "roots rock" group that sometimes performs at the cafe. "You can at least count on getting fed and getting beers. If you bring a crowd, you know you’re going to make money.
"It was here the producers from Sugar Hill heard us," he said proudly, adding that the result has been contract negotiations with that company.
On this night, Olivarez and another band member were not performing. Instead, they sat beneath a glowing string of Christmas lights in the cafe’s dining section, hailing friends and prodding each other.
Musicians and artists living in nearby warehouse apartments often come to relax on the ripped vinyl seats or on the benches shaded by banana trees in the courtyard. Visitors can include an occasional celebrity such as ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons who sometimes stops to pour a drink or two past his flowing beard.
Olivarez gestures toward a large portrait of Franklin Roosevelt that hands behind the bar. "Mama put that up," he said. "This is pretty much the same as it was."
Olivarez and other bar regulars don’t need encouragement to recite life from the days when Lopez ran the cafe. But perhaps the best expert in Last Concert Cafe history, is Fudge, who takes pains to ensure several cafe traditions are upheld.
One is to keep the red door at the entrance locked during business hours. Customers must rap twice to gain entrance. The custom dates from when cafe patrons wished to screen who came in.
Depending on whom you talk to, the practice was to keep neighborhood hooligans from barging in, to safeguard philandering husbands from surprise visits by their wives or to hide some of the customers’ activities from the law.
The custom of locking the door is particularly impractical on busy nights when cafe workers are constantly hopping to the entrance. But Fudge declared she has no intention of changing the policy.
The only concession was to place a door knob on the outside to meet fire code requirements.
"Last Concert always had that mystique, that intrigue about it, and it that was one of the things I felt strongly that we should keep," she said.
There is no sign on the outside of the building either, other than a large metal one propped against a wall that reads. "Thank you for visiting Alabama. Please come again."
The bands perform in the courtyard, which is surrounded by walls painted red and green and adorned with crude wooden cutouts intended to resemble watermelon slices. Corrugated fiberglass sheets that cover the overhead rafters in winter are removed in warm weather.
Fudge takes a keen interest in the music. "We have our favorites and it’s kind of hard to get a gig here," she said. "We do let new people in (as performers), but we get to be a lot more selective now."
But what let her to the cafe was the restaurant aspect of the business. "That’s more where my creativity comes out," she said.
Sporting casual clothes and tousled blond hair, Fudge now looks the part of maverick tavern owner, betraying not one trace of her former role as compliance officer for an investment brokerage firm.
She had risen through the corporate ranks after starting as a secretary. But her passion was not compliance monitoring, but cooking. So in 1986, she decided to moonlight as a restaurant worker.
"I took this little Leisure Learning class, "So You Want To Start A Restaurant,’ "she said, "and the main point they made in it was - if you had never worked in a restaurant, that was the first step. I never had done that."
A friend knew someone at the Last Concert Cafe who might let her work for free. "Well, I heard of the Last Concert since I was 15 years old," she said. " It was one of those things that I was always curious about and had heard stories of."
She began working in the cafe at night. The Last Concert had exchanged hands several times after Lopez died, and frequent closings had driven away many customers.
Not long afterward, Fudge received a strange phone call. It was the cafe’s owner, asking if she would buy the business. Although she had only spent a few nights doing menial tasks in the cafe,
Fudge found the offer too tempting to turn down.
She convinced some friends to join as partners and took charge. Her close-cropped hair sprouted into wavy bunches and her body slimmed as the hectic hours in the restaurant burned away 50 pounds.
Her routine was to work a full day at her job, rush to the restaurant and toil into the early morning. The partners dropped off as business grew worse, and Fudge paid bills by credit card.
"I changed my whole life style," she said. "It became something I was consumed with."
At first , she had trouble even communicating with the Spanish-speaking employees in the kitchen. "People would laugh because we couldn’t understand each other back there and I would get louder and louder and everybody out here would hear everything I was saying," she said. "We were the entertainment from the kitchen."
After some lean months, customers suddenly seemed to rediscover the cafe. Musicians began stopping by to play for tips and crowds began to gather in the evenings.
"It has gone up ever since," Fudge said. "It was confirmation to me that this is what I was supposed to be doing."
hat realization softened the blow when her employer fired her. Fudge said the company reasoned that her involvement with the bar comprised her duties as a compliance officer.
The newest Last Concert Tradition is a block party in the neighborhood that Fudge throws the last Saturday in July as a benefit for her pet charity, the Rainforest Action Network. More than a thousand people may cram into the general area for such parties.
On this Monday night, however, the cafe had about two dozen customers and the atmosphere was tranquil. The performer was Donna Chatham, a Houston-area resident who accompanied herself on six -string guitar as she sang about the tenderness and sharp teeth of love.
Chatham said she hopes to someday make a living as a musician and songsmith, but she now pays the bills as a tutor and substitute teacher. "Actually I feel more comfortable on the stage than I do talking to people," she said. "I’ll play to as many people as are here. I’ve actually had people ask me for my songs. And that’s a compliment."
Toward the weekend, bands such as the Screamin’ Waheenees and Moe & the Lawn play blistering sessions of electric rock or blues and the capacity crowds become boisterous.
Fudge comes by the cafe often, and still cooks in a pinch.
But she now finds time for other activities, including a course she teaches for Leisure Learning, Inc.
The course’s title?
"So You Want to Start A Restaurant."
Houston Chronicle
Wednesday, April 3,1991
When 62-year old Elena "Mama" Lopez opened a small Mexican restaurant in 1949 at 1403 Nance, she christened it the Last Concert Cafe to signify this would be her last endeavor.
Lopez, a fragile-looking woman whose photograph hangs in a corner of the restaurant, died in 1985, at the age of 95. But as for the cafe itself, the last concert may be a long time coming.
Every night, the place throbs with live music ranging from gentle folk to gritty rhythm and blues.
In addition, the cafe serves lunch to a crowd that includes burly workers from the warehoused district and corporate executives from downtown.
Under current owner, Dawn Fudge, the rambling, wood-framed establishment has become a venue for local musicians performing original songs. Fudge, 36, agrees to share a cut of bar sales with bands and guarantees a meal for every performer.
"We love this place," said Lupe Olivarez, a wiry singer with The Basics, a "roots rock" group that sometimes performs at the cafe. "You can at least count on getting fed and getting beers. If you bring a crowd, you know you’re going to make money.
"It was here the producers from Sugar Hill heard us," he said proudly, adding that the result has been contract negotiations with that company.
On this night, Olivarez and another band member were not performing. Instead, they sat beneath a glowing string of Christmas lights in the cafe’s dining section, hailing friends and prodding each other.
Musicians and artists living in nearby warehouse apartments often come to relax on the ripped vinyl seats or on the benches shaded by banana trees in the courtyard. Visitors can include an occasional celebrity such as ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons who sometimes stops to pour a drink or two past his flowing beard.
Olivarez gestures toward a large portrait of Franklin Roosevelt that hands behind the bar. "Mama put that up," he said. "This is pretty much the same as it was."
Olivarez and other bar regulars don’t need encouragement to recite life from the days when Lopez ran the cafe. But perhaps the best expert in Last Concert Cafe history, is Fudge, who takes pains to ensure several cafe traditions are upheld.
One is to keep the red door at the entrance locked during business hours. Customers must rap twice to gain entrance. The custom dates from when cafe patrons wished to screen who came in.
Depending on whom you talk to, the practice was to keep neighborhood hooligans from barging in, to safeguard philandering husbands from surprise visits by their wives or to hide some of the customers’ activities from the law.
The custom of locking the door is particularly impractical on busy nights when cafe workers are constantly hopping to the entrance. But Fudge declared she has no intention of changing the policy.
The only concession was to place a door knob on the outside to meet fire code requirements.
"Last Concert always had that mystique, that intrigue about it, and it that was one of the things I felt strongly that we should keep," she said.
There is no sign on the outside of the building either, other than a large metal one propped against a wall that reads. "Thank you for visiting Alabama. Please come again."
The bands perform in the courtyard, which is surrounded by walls painted red and green and adorned with crude wooden cutouts intended to resemble watermelon slices. Corrugated fiberglass sheets that cover the overhead rafters in winter are removed in warm weather.
Fudge takes a keen interest in the music. "We have our favorites and it’s kind of hard to get a gig here," she said. "We do let new people in (as performers), but we get to be a lot more selective now."
But what let her to the cafe was the restaurant aspect of the business. "That’s more where my creativity comes out," she said.
Sporting casual clothes and tousled blond hair, Fudge now looks the part of maverick tavern owner, betraying not one trace of her former role as compliance officer for an investment brokerage firm.
She had risen through the corporate ranks after starting as a secretary. But her passion was not compliance monitoring, but cooking. So in 1986, she decided to moonlight as a restaurant worker.
"I took this little Leisure Learning class, "So You Want To Start A Restaurant,’ "she said, "and the main point they made in it was - if you had never worked in a restaurant, that was the first step. I never had done that."
A friend knew someone at the Last Concert Cafe who might let her work for free. "Well, I heard of the Last Concert since I was 15 years old," she said. " It was one of those things that I was always curious about and had heard stories of."
She began working in the cafe at night. The Last Concert had exchanged hands several times after Lopez died, and frequent closings had driven away many customers.
Not long afterward, Fudge received a strange phone call. It was the cafe’s owner, asking if she would buy the business. Although she had only spent a few nights doing menial tasks in the cafe,
Fudge found the offer too tempting to turn down.
She convinced some friends to join as partners and took charge. Her close-cropped hair sprouted into wavy bunches and her body slimmed as the hectic hours in the restaurant burned away 50 pounds.
Her routine was to work a full day at her job, rush to the restaurant and toil into the early morning. The partners dropped off as business grew worse, and Fudge paid bills by credit card.
"I changed my whole life style," she said. "It became something I was consumed with."
At first , she had trouble even communicating with the Spanish-speaking employees in the kitchen. "People would laugh because we couldn’t understand each other back there and I would get louder and louder and everybody out here would hear everything I was saying," she said. "We were the entertainment from the kitchen."
After some lean months, customers suddenly seemed to rediscover the cafe. Musicians began stopping by to play for tips and crowds began to gather in the evenings.
"It has gone up ever since," Fudge said. "It was confirmation to me that this is what I was supposed to be doing."
hat realization softened the blow when her employer fired her. Fudge said the company reasoned that her involvement with the bar comprised her duties as a compliance officer.
The newest Last Concert Tradition is a block party in the neighborhood that Fudge throws the last Saturday in July as a benefit for her pet charity, the Rainforest Action Network. More than a thousand people may cram into the general area for such parties.
On this Monday night, however, the cafe had about two dozen customers and the atmosphere was tranquil. The performer was Donna Chatham, a Houston-area resident who accompanied herself on six -string guitar as she sang about the tenderness and sharp teeth of love.
Chatham said she hopes to someday make a living as a musician and songsmith, but she now pays the bills as a tutor and substitute teacher. "Actually I feel more comfortable on the stage than I do talking to people," she said. "I’ll play to as many people as are here. I’ve actually had people ask me for my songs. And that’s a compliment."
Toward the weekend, bands such as the Screamin’ Waheenees and Moe & the Lawn play blistering sessions of electric rock or blues and the capacity crowds become boisterous.
Fudge comes by the cafe often, and still cooks in a pinch.
But she now finds time for other activities, including a course she teaches for Leisure Learning, Inc.
The course’s title?
"So You Want to Start A Restaurant."
The Arizona Republic
Wednesday, August 8, 1990
Under a Houston off ramp, cafe has a lock on survival
Houston - Twelve feet from an exit ramp off Interstate 10, in the urban hodgepodge of Texas' largest city, rests a hardy survivor of the havoc a major highway project can inflict upon a neighborhood.
The Last Concert Cafe, spared from the wrecking ball when I-10 blew through Houston in the late 1960's,may be the most anonymous-looking Mexican restaurant in Texas, if not the United States. The nondescript red-and-white building has a small courtyard, no sign and a red front door that remains locked.
To gain entrance, patrons must knock - not once, but twice - for owner Dawn Fudge or one of the regulars to let them in.
Once inside, however, you begin to understand why, after 40 years, the Last Concert remains Houston's most eclectic eating spot. The decor is watermelon red and green, the booths and chairs are spare and rickety, and the tables on the patio are adorned with plastic tablecloths and spray cans of insect repellent.
Banana trees flourish, and stray cats wander about, hoping for a random fajita morsel. The clientele is just as bric-a-brac, with artists from the surrounding warehouse district, students, construction workers and the well-to-do all numbered among the faithful. The Texas rock band ZZ Top has been known to dine and drink here.
"We don't advertise, and most people can't even find it," says Fudge, who bought and revamped the Last Concert four years ago. "It's always been a word of mouth place."
Hard-to-find address
Literally in the shadow of I-10 at 1403 Nance St., the Last concert has to be one of Houston's most inaccessible addresses (no one seems to be able to tell you how to get here, you just have to look). Sharing the building with the restaurant is Eddie Wollen, whose mother, Elena "Mama" Lopez, started the cafe in the years after World War II.
Wollen, 63 helped his mother run the Last Concert for years and lived with her in the quarters, adjoining the eatery. But when Mama died in 1982 at age 95, he sold the business and began to concentrate on his inventions, which he proudly displays in a makeshift office with blacked-out windows on the I-10 side of the building.
Wollen is particularly obsessed with talking electronic devices, from security systems to fax machines. His favorite is a talking condom-vending machine he's perfecting, which can be rigged to deliver a taped message when a purchase is made or when someone passes by.
("Hey stud!" the message goes. "Whether or not you have a hot date coming up, be ready!")
Wollen tends to downplay the Last Concert's reputedly sordid past, but fortunately for visiting historians, Fudge is happy to provide the steamy details.
Dodging demolition
I-10's right-of-way originally meant that the restaurant would have to be demolished.
But the place was so popular that they moved the right-of-way over a few feet so we could be spared. "Wollen says.
It may not have been quite that simple.
"Mama had some pull," Fudge, 36, admits in her drop-dead Texas drawl. That influence was was a remnant of the days when Mama Lopez's place was a hideaway where "you could pay a quarter and dance with a lady, if you get my drift." Fudge says
Norm Wigginton, public affairs officer for the Texas Department of Highways and Public Transportation, says rumors have abounded for years that Mama strong-armed city officials and congressmen alike to save the Last Concert.
I've looked into it, and there appears that there might have been some truth to it," he says. Wigginton adds hat another notorious establishment, the All Nations Cafe, wasn't as fortunate, that bordello, run by a madam named "Sweetie" who sported a diamond tooth, was demolished.
"Sweetie took the money and moved to Trinity Texas," a coastal resort, Wigginton says.
Whether the locale is Houston, Phoenix or somewhere else, plotting the path of an interstate and acquiring the right-of-way requires delicate negotiations and a lot of money. In Phoenix, the final 20 mile link - which cost about $500 million to build - rang up more than 150 million in right-of-way costs.
"The city of Phoenix held tough and got what it wanted," says Mark Bonan, spokesman for the Arizona Department of Transportation. What it wanted was a park, a high occupancy vehicle lane and protection for archaeological dig sites; and the city got it all, "which was a lot more than anyone else has ever gotten from the federal government," Bonan says.
Yet for every large, multimillion-dollar battle fought over right-of-way, a hundred others are waged by private individuals simply trying to protect a lifelong investment or a way of life.
"We had instances where the I-10 route was moved to accommodate someone whose livelihood was threatened," Wigginton says "Sometimes it was because it made financial sense, but often it was just a matter of having a little compassion.
Dancing on the tables
All of which still doesn't fully explain how the Last Concert dodged the ax.
In the early 1960's, the Last Concert was one of Houston's first gay bars. And about that time, the biggest marijuana bust in the city's history occurred there, buttressing the cafe's fly-by-night reputation
"That was how the tradition of locking the door began." Fudge says. "I don't know if it was to keep the undesirables or the cops away. But the front door didn't even have a doorknob for years.
City fire codes soon put an end to that, but the door remains locked as a nod to Mama Lopez's legacy.
The Last Concert had fallen on hard times when Fudge appeared on the scene in 1986. A compliance officer for an investment broker, with a degree in home economics, she assumed ownership, expanded the menu and pumped new lifeblood into the establishment, while protecting the Bohemian ambience its patrons love.
"Dancing on the tables is not unheard of here." she says, laughing. Live music is featured on the patio most evenings, with the emphasis on rock and roll oldies and rhythm and blues. "It's important to me and our customers that we keep this place comfortable and casual.
Any restaurant where the mood music is the hiss of tires on a freeway ramp probably isn't in much danger of getting upscale. And that's just fine with Fudge.
This is a magical place," she says. Besides, when things get cranked up at night, you don't even hear the traffic."
Houston - Twelve feet from an exit ramp off Interstate 10, in the urban hodgepodge of Texas' largest city, rests a hardy survivor of the havoc a major highway project can inflict upon a neighborhood.
The Last Concert Cafe, spared from the wrecking ball when I-10 blew through Houston in the late 1960's,may be the most anonymous-looking Mexican restaurant in Texas, if not the United States. The nondescript red-and-white building has a small courtyard, no sign and a red front door that remains locked.
To gain entrance, patrons must knock - not once, but twice - for owner Dawn Fudge or one of the regulars to let them in.
Once inside, however, you begin to understand why, after 40 years, the Last Concert remains Houston's most eclectic eating spot. The decor is watermelon red and green, the booths and chairs are spare and rickety, and the tables on the patio are adorned with plastic tablecloths and spray cans of insect repellent.
Banana trees flourish, and stray cats wander about, hoping for a random fajita morsel. The clientele is just as bric-a-brac, with artists from the surrounding warehouse district, students, construction workers and the well-to-do all numbered among the faithful. The Texas rock band ZZ Top has been known to dine and drink here.
"We don't advertise, and most people can't even find it," says Fudge, who bought and revamped the Last Concert four years ago. "It's always been a word of mouth place."
Hard-to-find address
Literally in the shadow of I-10 at 1403 Nance St., the Last concert has to be one of Houston's most inaccessible addresses (no one seems to be able to tell you how to get here, you just have to look). Sharing the building with the restaurant is Eddie Wollen, whose mother, Elena "Mama" Lopez, started the cafe in the years after World War II.
Wollen, 63 helped his mother run the Last Concert for years and lived with her in the quarters, adjoining the eatery. But when Mama died in 1982 at age 95, he sold the business and began to concentrate on his inventions, which he proudly displays in a makeshift office with blacked-out windows on the I-10 side of the building.
Wollen is particularly obsessed with talking electronic devices, from security systems to fax machines. His favorite is a talking condom-vending machine he's perfecting, which can be rigged to deliver a taped message when a purchase is made or when someone passes by.
("Hey stud!" the message goes. "Whether or not you have a hot date coming up, be ready!")
Wollen tends to downplay the Last Concert's reputedly sordid past, but fortunately for visiting historians, Fudge is happy to provide the steamy details.
Dodging demolition
I-10's right-of-way originally meant that the restaurant would have to be demolished.
But the place was so popular that they moved the right-of-way over a few feet so we could be spared. "Wollen says.
It may not have been quite that simple.
"Mama had some pull," Fudge, 36, admits in her drop-dead Texas drawl. That influence was was a remnant of the days when Mama Lopez's place was a hideaway where "you could pay a quarter and dance with a lady, if you get my drift." Fudge says
Norm Wigginton, public affairs officer for the Texas Department of Highways and Public Transportation, says rumors have abounded for years that Mama strong-armed city officials and congressmen alike to save the Last Concert.
I've looked into it, and there appears that there might have been some truth to it," he says. Wigginton adds hat another notorious establishment, the All Nations Cafe, wasn't as fortunate, that bordello, run by a madam named "Sweetie" who sported a diamond tooth, was demolished.
"Sweetie took the money and moved to Trinity Texas," a coastal resort, Wigginton says.
Whether the locale is Houston, Phoenix or somewhere else, plotting the path of an interstate and acquiring the right-of-way requires delicate negotiations and a lot of money. In Phoenix, the final 20 mile link - which cost about $500 million to build - rang up more than 150 million in right-of-way costs.
"The city of Phoenix held tough and got what it wanted," says Mark Bonan, spokesman for the Arizona Department of Transportation. What it wanted was a park, a high occupancy vehicle lane and protection for archaeological dig sites; and the city got it all, "which was a lot more than anyone else has ever gotten from the federal government," Bonan says.
Yet for every large, multimillion-dollar battle fought over right-of-way, a hundred others are waged by private individuals simply trying to protect a lifelong investment or a way of life.
"We had instances where the I-10 route was moved to accommodate someone whose livelihood was threatened," Wigginton says "Sometimes it was because it made financial sense, but often it was just a matter of having a little compassion.
Dancing on the tables
All of which still doesn't fully explain how the Last Concert dodged the ax.
In the early 1960's, the Last Concert was one of Houston's first gay bars. And about that time, the biggest marijuana bust in the city's history occurred there, buttressing the cafe's fly-by-night reputation
"That was how the tradition of locking the door began." Fudge says. "I don't know if it was to keep the undesirables or the cops away. But the front door didn't even have a doorknob for years.
City fire codes soon put an end to that, but the door remains locked as a nod to Mama Lopez's legacy.
The Last Concert had fallen on hard times when Fudge appeared on the scene in 1986. A compliance officer for an investment broker, with a degree in home economics, she assumed ownership, expanded the menu and pumped new lifeblood into the establishment, while protecting the Bohemian ambience its patrons love.
"Dancing on the tables is not unheard of here." she says, laughing. Live music is featured on the patio most evenings, with the emphasis on rock and roll oldies and rhythm and blues. "It's important to me and our customers that we keep this place comfortable and casual.
Any restaurant where the mood music is the hiss of tires on a freeway ramp probably isn't in much danger of getting upscale. And that's just fine with Fudge.
This is a magical place," she says. Besides, when things get cranked up at night, you don't even hear the traffic."
Fearless Critic
Houston Restaurant Guide
Brutally honest reviews and ratings of Houston's restaurants
This is stellar compared to almost everyone I have read. The writers are a secret panel of undercover chefs by Robin Goldstein.
In a land where berkenstocks and beads rule supreme, you will find that everyone's favorite hippie haven and Mexican restaurant is Last Concert Cafe. The place started out as a humble Mexican restaurant, but it was slowly take over by the alternative-lifestyle types. Nowadays, you can go to the Last Concert Cafe not only to enjoy tostadas and enchiladas but also to partake in a drum circle or take in a psychedelic hula hoop show. The menu is simple Tex-Mex peppered with the occasional award-winning burger and (hippies take note) vegetarian options, but its dominated by the enchilada, which is hardly a hippie dish. Cheese, beef, spinach or chicken - you name it - and they will roll it up in a tortilla and smother it in sauce. The Last Concert Cafe will definitely leave you scratching your head at times - but the food satisfies more often than not.
You dont have to change your name to Moonchild or Earthwoman when you step inside, but be ready for an alternative lifestyle, especially when the sun goes down. This compound, hidden on the edges of downtown on Nance, is very unassuming during the day, but at night everyone comes out to play. Appetizers are normal Tex-Mxe, we like the botana platter, with its quesadillas, jalapenos, chicken flauas, and guacamole.
It'll definitely fill up those used to alfalfa sprouts and organic tofu. The potato with green chile soup is one of the best items on the menu. Chunks of potatoes, simmered in chicken broth mix with pablano peppers, cheeses, and pico de gallo, the resulting dish is statisfying. The "Apolinars Enchiladas" are delicious, two roast-beef-stuffed enchiladas with chili gravy and rice and beans.
On any given night you'll hear music coming from out back. Order a beer and head back there to enter a different universe. Vendors are selling beads and jewelry, hula hoops are being whipped around gracefully, and it all turns into a mellowed-out party. It would be hard to conjure up an atmosphere
for Tex-Mex in Houston that's more transportative than this one. So wipe the dirt off the kids' feet, strap 'em to your chest in a hemp carrier, and come on down.
You dont have to change your name to Moonchild or Earthwoman when you step inside, but be ready for an alternative lifestyle, especially when the sun goes down. This compound, hidden on the edges of downtown on Nance, is very unassuming during the day, but at night everyone comes out to play. Appetizers are normal Tex-Mxe, we like the botana platter, with its quesadillas, jalapenos, chicken flauas, and guacamole.
It'll definitely fill up those used to alfalfa sprouts and organic tofu. The potato with green chile soup is one of the best items on the menu. Chunks of potatoes, simmered in chicken broth mix with pablano peppers, cheeses, and pico de gallo, the resulting dish is statisfying. The "Apolinars Enchiladas" are delicious, two roast-beef-stuffed enchiladas with chili gravy and rice and beans.
On any given night you'll hear music coming from out back. Order a beer and head back there to enter a different universe. Vendors are selling beads and jewelry, hula hoops are being whipped around gracefully, and it all turns into a mellowed-out party. It would be hard to conjure up an atmosphere
for Tex-Mex in Houston that's more transportative than this one. So wipe the dirt off the kids' feet, strap 'em to your chest in a hemp carrier, and come on down.
Sunday Houston Chronicle
May 1, 2005 Shelby Hodge
shelby.hodge@chron.com
Leave it to the gourmet-minded French to put a twist on typical Tex-Mex traditions. When French Consulate cultural attache' Joel Savary entertained 25 visiting rench VIPs Wednesday night at the Last Concert Cafe, They Washed down their nachos not with margaritas but with specially ordered lime daiquris.
Apparently, the night spot was tres OK with Savary's guest. They stayed until 1 am dancing to the sounds of Pot Roast and raving about the unique Houston locale.
Apparently, the night spot was tres OK with Savary's guest. They stayed until 1 am dancing to the sounds of Pot Roast and raving about the unique Houston locale.
Praia Urbana
Last Concert Cafe June 18, 2011
By Matthew Keever Mon., Jun. 20 2011 Categories: After Dark
Pria Urbana backyard
Saturday, the all-day electronic music festival Praia Urbana was held at Last Concert Café. From what Aftermath saw while we were there, it was pretty much a packed house.
Due to a previous commitment, we got there two hours before the party came to a close. Many people were winding down, but just as many were still going strong on the dance floors, while a few were recharging their batteries with cold beverages on the patio tables.
When we first walked in, Aftermath kind of thought it was a rave. Which, we suppose, it kind of was... minus some of raves' more unpleasant aspects and for a pretty steep $35 ticket.
Due to a previous commitment, we got there two hours before the party came to a close. Many people were winding down, but just as many were still going strong on the dance floors, while a few were recharging their batteries with cold beverages on the patio tables.
When we first walked in, Aftermath kind of thought it was a rave. Which, we suppose, it kind of was... minus some of raves' more unpleasant aspects and for a pretty steep $35 ticket.
Pria Urbana street art
Like the crowds at Free Press Summer Fest a few weeks ago, plenty of concertgoers found interesting ways to beat the heat, mostly by taking off as many articles of clothing as they could. The festival's promoters and organizers put together water stations and a few sprinkler tents where people could cool off. It wasn't Summer Fest, of course, but it wasn't supposed to be. Praia Urbana says it has boasted crowds of more than 1,500 people in the past, and Saturday night's festival may have reached that number again.
At least, that's what the dance floor felt like, as we tried to make our way through it to the restroom.
While the festival pegged itself as an electronica expose, there were a few reasons to visit even if you weren't into the whole "dance" thing. The first thing Aftermath noticed as we walked in was the wall near the back of the venue, which had been designated an art wall, of sorts - a blank canvas for a few graffiti artists to cover with whatever they saw fit.
By far, this was our favorite part of the evening.
Three artists (that we saw) contributed to the mural, but we assume that it had been in the process of being completed since the event started at 2 p.m. We kind of wish we had gotten there earlier. But then again, it was 100-something degrees, so we'll content ourselves with congratulating those who were strong enough to withstand the Houston heat and sun.
While dancing, nonetheless.
At least, that's what the dance floor felt like, as we tried to make our way through it to the restroom.
While the festival pegged itself as an electronica expose, there were a few reasons to visit even if you weren't into the whole "dance" thing. The first thing Aftermath noticed as we walked in was the wall near the back of the venue, which had been designated an art wall, of sorts - a blank canvas for a few graffiti artists to cover with whatever they saw fit.
By far, this was our favorite part of the evening.
Three artists (that we saw) contributed to the mural, but we assume that it had been in the process of being completed since the event started at 2 p.m. We kind of wish we had gotten there earlier. But then again, it was 100-something degrees, so we'll content ourselves with congratulating those who were strong enough to withstand the Houston heat and sun.
While dancing, nonetheless.
Praia Urbana
Praia Urbana means "beach" in Portugese, and this was the festival's sixth concurrent year in Houston. The daytime electronic music festival featured all sorts of DJs, some of whom are internationally renowned. This year, Wally Lopez, Honey Dijon and Riddler headlined the festival, and plenty of local DJs were spinning too, alongside live percussionists. Past headliners include Jimpster, Saeed Younan, Mr. V, Alix Alvarez, Cevin Fisher, Chuck Love, Collette, David Tort, Gonzalo Menoyo, Randall Jones, Jay-J and DJ Wady.
The festival happens four times a year and, according to its Web site, strives to be "the electronic music enthusiast's fix for their insatiable appetite to the indulgence that is called House."
Consider us satisfied. We may have only been there for two hours, but we had enough beer spilled on us, sweat transferred to us and speakers right next to our heads to last a few weeks.
The festival only ran until 11 p.m., but its attendees all seemed satisfied by the time it all ended. We're sure that they would have been more than happy to stick around for much, much longer, but we didn't hear anyone griping as they made their way back to their cars outside Last Concert Café.
All we saw were smiles. A lot of sweet, sweaty smiles. If there were another Praia Urbana this weekend, we just might go.
Personal Bias: Honestly, we had never heard of this thing, and it didn't sound like we'd know anyone there, but we like putting ourselves out of our element from time to time, so we hopped on board.
The festival happens four times a year and, according to its Web site, strives to be "the electronic music enthusiast's fix for their insatiable appetite to the indulgence that is called House."
Consider us satisfied. We may have only been there for two hours, but we had enough beer spilled on us, sweat transferred to us and speakers right next to our heads to last a few weeks.
The festival only ran until 11 p.m., but its attendees all seemed satisfied by the time it all ended. We're sure that they would have been more than happy to stick around for much, much longer, but we didn't hear anyone griping as they made their way back to their cars outside Last Concert Café.
All we saw were smiles. A lot of sweet, sweaty smiles. If there were another Praia Urbana this weekend, we just might go.
Personal Bias: Honestly, we had never heard of this thing, and it didn't sound like we'd know anyone there, but we like putting ourselves out of our element from time to time, so we hopped on board.
Culture Map
BY SHELBY HODGE
04.09.13 | 04:08 pmCONNOR BARWIN'S EPIC GOODBYE BASH
Connor Barwin's goodbye bash turns into a near rave: Texans stars, celeb chefs & rappers partyAs his departure for the Philadelphia Eagles nears, Connor Barwin fans are singing the blues all over town. But Saturday night, spirits ran high as Mark Sullivan and Dawn Fudge hosted a TexMex/tequila-infused going-away party at Dawn's Last Concert Cafe.
The powerhouse turnout came from all corners of the city with the likes ofBun B, Underbelly chef Chris Shepherd and Texans teammate T.J. Yates celebrating or rather bemoaning Barwin's departure. Even the linebacker's parents, Peggy Bailey and Tom Barwin, flew in from Sarasota, Fla., for the festivities.
The party crowd knocked back Pura Vida margaritas, grazed through the buffet and grooved to the sounds of New Orleans rockers Earphunk. Reports are that a rave-like atmosphere prevailed as the band blasted and barefoot guests hit the sandpit to test their hula hoop skills and to display their free-form dancing talents.
Among Barwin's gridiron brethren making the scene were Owen Daniels, Arian Foster, Brooks Reed and Duane Brown — plus ex Texan Eric Winston. Add his steady squeeze Dr. Laura Busher and his roommatePat McGinn to the mix. Even team docs, Dr. Jim Muntz and Dr. Walter Lowe, joined the fray.
This is one time that the guest list really is worth reading as partygoers included comedian Jenny Johnson, Pass & Provisions chefs Seth Siegel-Gardner and Terrence Gallivan, Eatsie Boys Matt Marcus andRyan Soroka, rebel chef Randy Rucker, restaurateur Lonnie Schiller, Griff's founder Michael Griffin, UP Restaurant GM Oscar Aguilar, Continental Club owners Bob and Lane Schultz and party people James Sivco, Tricia Harrison, Jason Reeves, Jack Highberger and so many more.