Celebrate Texas Independence Day by eating a native dish -- like tacos, say, or enchiladas.

The first observances of Texas Independence Day were relatively sedate affairs: The semi-centennial in 1886 was marked by readings of the Declaration and a sprucing-up of Sam Houston's grave. In Brenham, a congressman gave a speech that the local press deemed "eloquent and appropriate."

Many Texans didn't bother with the March 2 holiday, including -- in 1887 -- members of the state Senate.

"A motion to adjourn the Senate was made on the ground that the day was the anniversary of the declaration of Texan Independence, but it was voted down by those who had more interest in certain measures than in the Texas Fourth of July," the Galveston Daily News reported.

It's unclear from the article, titled "A Humdrum Day: Nothing Particularly Interesting," just which measures distracted the men from their patriotic concerns.

But Galveston's Chamber of Commerce realized the holiday was an occasion to party, and in 1894 staged its first Texas Independence Day banquet. While the Daily News didn't report on the proceedings, it devoted dozens of column inches the following year to the banquet's second edition, billed as "a feast of good things."

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Flickr user: Francois Hogue

​Just yesterday, Wayne Adams broke the sad news to the employees at the Metro Diner on Gaston Avenue: At the end of March, the 24/7 diner -- one of Dallas's greasiest, greatest institutions -- will close. He has sold the property for reasons he says he will explain to us later this week, over lunch at the Metro. After we talk, I will post that piece here.

Would you quail at eating quail?

Eating too much turkey's become a November tradition, but quail was once the fowl of choice for diners set on overindulging.

As David Wondrich notes in his splendid new book, Punch: The Delights (and Dangers) of the Flowing Bowl, 19th-century sports were terrifically fond of the "betcha can't eat 30 quails in 30 days" wager. Since reviewing restaurants in Dallas is tantamount to taking that bet again and again, I dipped into the archives today to discover whether Gilded Age gamblers had developed any tricks for making the birds go down easy.

The origins of the bet, which pivots on the assumption that an eater's resolve will falter in the face of quail's overwhelming gaminess, may be Biblical: According to Exodus, when the wandering Israelites grouched about their monotonous diet of manna, God responded with a storm of quail. Scholars who've done the math estimate it took billions of quails to "cover the camp" in a pile "two cubits high."

Forget one billion: In the 1800s, it only took a few dozen quails to make betting men blubber.

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http://www.farrellsusa.com

We found this on the Farrell's site, but it looks so much like the birthday party mentioned below, we're kinda freaked out. Also, the second kid from the left could totally be one of us.

​
We've gotten sort of nostalgic this week. Not sure if it's hormonal or the fact that we at pizza yesterday and haven't gotten a whole helluva lot of sleep, but something made us start reflecting on all the old eateries we luuuuuuuuuuved going to as a young adult/teen/kid/infant/speck, but can't no mo'.

Do you remember these places? Do you have any you want to add? If so, throw 'em down in the comments. Maybe the ghosts of restaurants past will delivery to you a singing waiter or a giant sundae in your sleep.

Columbo's: Pizza! Galaga! Pac-Man! Q-Bert! What? No one really liked Q-Bert, it's true. Anyway, there was just something about the checker-cloth covered tables and the parents letting us leave the table to go play games so they could get rowdy with pitchers of beer. No memories of if the pizza was actually good by culinary standards, but by kid standards it was awesome.

Farrell's Ice Cream Parlour Restaurant: They had the cool old-fashioned glass display of candy sticks at the counter, a giant birthday sundae, and a huge marching band drum that a waiter beat (and scared the shit out of some -- not gonna say which -- kids) with. Most everyone here that is a Dallas native hosted or attended a birthday party at either the Valley View or Town East location.

More after the jump...
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Dtrap via Wikimedia

An Autocrat coffee milk.

​When we were just knee-high to a grasshopper, Granny and Mamaw would make us special drinks that made us feel like grown-ups. As the 'dults drank from the ever-ready pot of hot coffee, we'd get a tiny cup containing milk, sugar and really, just a splash of coffee.

We weren't missing out on that big-person joy...and we like to think this is why we love our coffee.

Used to think grandmother's home made coffee-milk was just a Southern thing, but after extensive research -- and by research we mean asking most people we've come into contact with over the last week if they remember such a thing -- we've discovered it's really more of a New England thing, and a Midwestern thing, and a Pacific Northwest thing. Then we found out the soda fountain version (akin to chocolate milk but made with Autocrat or another coffee syrup) was actually the official beverage of Rhode Island.

But that's not the point of this Days Gone Bite. This is about a packaged, supermarket wonder that disappeared from the shelves at some point in the last 20 years depending on where you live and what you mean by, "But I remember buying that fairly recently." We speak of Schepp's Coffee Milk.



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It's still National Burger Month, so we here at Days Gone Bite are celebrating the ultimate meat sammich with a look back at some of the more memorable fast food burger commercials.

Feel free to link to your faves in the comments, as we're really just hitting the Biggies that crop up here in the Lone Star State. And, well, "yore" is a little subjective.

8. Dairy Queen


Not the best one Dairy Queen ever had to offer, but, to be fair, DQ's ad dollars often went toward the dessert-y. This burger ad, though, has its moments.

7. Wendy's


Parents of a certain age still quote this one...and think it's funny.

6. Sonic


We really wanted to show the old Frankie Avalon commercials, but only came up with a chicken-oriented one. For shame, YouTube-ers! That being said, Sonic's current commercial series is top-notch so this'll fill in nicely for the golden-throated wonder.

5. Braum's


Any of the Ernest P. Worrell selections would do nicely. Rest in peace, Jim Varney. Know what I mean, Vern?

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Chronicle Books' Meatloaf by Maryana Vollstedt

​Back before Scouts earned cool belt badges for the responsible playing of video games, the badges -- for boys and girls -- were cloth numbers. Bluebirds and Camp Fire members earned wooden beads. And we're talking flints, day camp and lummi sticks and kick-ass roasted marshmallows. Oh, and learning to make lanyard key chains! The lo-fi extra-curricular service organization days.

So, yeah, back then, troops gathered leaves, sticks and the like on nature hunts and would, maybe every couple of years, piece together a recipe book of favorites from their families. We here at Days Gone Bite recently flipped through about five local recipe collections of that sort  (as well as one of the school fundraiser variety and one of those "hey, asshole, cook with your kids!" cookbooks), and it seems that, next to layered salads, chocolate pies and pinwheel apps, there is a recipe that pops up quite often. One that we find still on the Internets but not so much in the cookbooks: frosted meatloaf.

You ever frost a 'loaf, people? Because it's awesome.

Perhaps the reason meatloaf iced in mashed potatoes was once so popular is because the recipe was pushed on the backs of boxes of instant potato mixes. No doubt in these foodie days box taters have fallen from grace. Better to mash your own, we now say. But there was a day when the thought of having to make homemade mashed potatoes as well as a whole meatloaf was overwhelming, and a quick just-add-water mix seemed so harmless. Add a few Kraft singles to the top and even better, right?

That's all sacrilege now.

If you're going to make meatloaf, you do it right, and if you're going to serve mashed potatoes you make them the right way too. So why not pile one well-made item on top of the other to amuse the kids? Is it just too much work or are we past this novelty?

www.kraftrecipes.com

Jell-O 1-2-3 Dessert

​In the world of ubiquitous American desserts, one can always rely on the chocolate chip cookie, the apple pie, chocolate cake and Jell-O. Hell, Jell-O has earned the honor of being the go-to term for any gelatin-related, or simply jiggly, dessert. It's the Kleenex of the cafeteria. 

Jell-O -- especially the green variety after it was featured on a Winter Olympics pin -- even became the official favorite snack of Utah. Now that's some popular snack.

And Kraft -- with its depot that fills central Garland with the smell of barbecue sauce, salad dressing or fruity things, depending on the day and production schedule -- the purveyor of all things Jell-O, has put forth many a product under the much-loved moniker. Gelatin mix, pudding mix, frozen pudding pops, dessert cups, no-bake pies and that spring- and summertime fave, Jell-O 1-2-3. Remember it?

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A Snapple soda bottle. The CLR is elusive.

​Dear Snapple,
You produce beverages -- allegedly with the best stuff on Earth -- with which many are satisfied. Some might say they even crave your drinks. Even 30 Rock has been generous with Snapple's product placement, with character Cerie going so far as to declare, "I only date guys who drink Snapple."

Long story short, many hip people who appreciate finely crafted comedy dig on the Snapple. You know you're well-loved.

But Days Gone Bite has come across at least four cases -- FOUR! -- of our own readers (as well as many other instances on the Internet) lamenting the long lost Snapple sodas.

What? Snapple sodas? Yeah, remember when you made those? Cream D'Vanilla, Jamaican Ginger Beer, Tru Root Beer, Peach Melba and the most mourned Cherry-Lime Rickey? On a fine spring day like this one, seems a shame to not be able to pop open a Snapple Cherry-Lime Rickey and quench that thirst with a tart and sweet Rickey wash.

Why, Snapple? Why? Some people surveyed for this open letter didn't recall the perfection that was the Snapple soda, but those who were conscious of their soda swilling from around 1983  (when the Snapple Lady was just hitting the airwaves) through the mid-1990s just might recall the plastic capped wonderstuffs and wonder where and why said stuff went away.

So Snapple, tell us. Why did you take the sodas -- specifically, the Cherry-Lime Rickey -- away? And will you ever bring them back (say, for an anniversary promotion or some such marketing ploy)? And so it's easier for you to respond, we did fill out the form on your Web site. Looking forward to hearing from you...and drinking a Cherry-Lime Rickey...unless it's been built up in all these memories for years, in which case we just won't admit that when the time comes.

Thanks so much,
Days Gone Bite

UPDATE:

Yesterday at 6 p.m., Snapple's "Consumer Relations" responded via e-mail...make that form e-mail. Read the earth-shattering correspondence after the jump.

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This week we're featuring some of those outstanding jingles that ingrained themselves into our gray matter. You know, the ones that were on worn VHS tapes of holiday specials. The ones that made you crave chips or gum. Those that you loved (or hated) just because of that catchy melody. The ones that showcased the musical alter-egos of young, hip actors. What? Yeah. You'll see. And, oh, you'll remember.

10. Big League Chew:



The over-the-top "BE A MAN, LITTLE JIMMY!" attitude and lyrics are tempered nicely by the "don't shove tabaccy in ya craw, ya hear" novelty product. "You're in the big leagues!"


9. Seagram's Golden Wine Coolers



Yes, that's Bruce Willis -- or possibly his alter-ego, bluesman Bruno -- singing the praises of the stuff that made stuffy high school girls way more eager to getting loaded. "But I don't like the taste of beer" was out the window, and while girls ogled Willis and slurred their way through that little ditty, Bartles & James wept in their porch rockers.


8. Keebler Tato Skins:



We have this one memorized forward and backward (though, in our minds that little girl does not interrupt to talk about barbecue. The original lyrics continue, "you won't believe your eyes!"). And the ad was effective. All elves aside, the simple, happy little song just invites a Tato Skin chomp. They've since been reincarnated as a TGI Friday's product, but there's no killing this elven earworm.

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