I just received a long rambling press release from Tom Landis. Besides having a baby tomorrow, the news is that he tried to make his own ice cream to sell at Texadelphia, failed miserably, and decided to import Amy’s Ice Cream from Austin. (Oh, and he is three years sober.) Sounds like the ice cream will be in Dallas Texadelphia locations starting next Wednesday. “Oh, and we ain’t making a penny off of it for awhile,” said Landis. “All proceeds will go to “Helping Austin Musicians,” a charity that helps Austin musicians with medical bills, etc.”
Full release below:
Man-o-man I wanna be me a foodie. Only problem is I can’t cook, can’t drink and can’t fit in the foodie scene.
I can’t cook. For more than 13 years, I’ve had the greatest job in the world as owner of what is now six restaurants.
And for that same amount of time, I’ve tried to cook my own stuff on the side. I suck. I just plain can’t cook.
And so I started going to fancy-pants restaurants. But I think I’ve pretty much left a slimy trail like a slug at many of the places. I’d love the fine wines, but they didn’t love me so much.
I’d get wasted, thump my chest about what a foodie I was, and then ask the waiter something like, “Zis is reeeeeelly good wine. Izzit red or white?”
So I quit drinking about three years ago.
Want to make sure the waiter doesn’t give you good service at a restaurant — tell them you don’t drink. Service takes the elevator south everytime.
So without drinking, I needed to find me a new vice. Ice cream became that ice vice.
Being in the restaurant biz, I knew I had to make my own ice cream. I got me a fancy machine. I got me fancy ingredients.
I made me some ice cream, and gave it to my employees. I knew this would be the start of something big.
The next day, almost every single employee had food poisioning. Dunno what I did wrong, but once again I realized just cause I love something don’t mean it loves me.
So I did what has worked for me in the past.
I went to Austin and traced my “Dazed and Confused” days back to when restaurants really had to compete for my college-broke-arse.
We used to get stoned and go to Texadelphia many moons ago. Now I got me two of them and I see them SMU students and Highland Park kiddos and all the private school kids come in, glassy-eyed and with a John-Prine-illegal-smile. I ain’t saying their stoned, but I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday either.
So I went back there, tried to find Ricky Williams to party with, but could not. It is weird to go back to a city where I was pretty much drunk or high and see it sober. Austin remains a magical place, especially for tastebuds.
My tastebuds, not the “tasty buds,” lead me to Amy’s Ice Cream. It’s the best.
If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.
So I talked to the Amy’s people, and they were kind enough to let me buy a whole truckload.
It arrives Wednesday. We’ll start eating it, and serving it, too, immediately that day.
I get several thousand customers a week, and they all seem fired up about Amy’s.
Oh, and we ain’t making a penny off of it for awhile — ALL proceeds will go to “Helping Austin Musicians,” a charity that helps Austin musicians with medical bills, etc.
I scream, you scream, we all scream me to end this diatribe.
I’m sliding off the face of the earth for awhile — I GOT ME A BABY DAUGHTER BEING BORN TOMORROW MORNING! And therefore I won’t be giving a rat’s ass ’bout nothing but that for awhile.
Best way to enjoy Amy’s — on Monday Nights we have $3.00 cheesesteaks. And kids eat free if they say “please.” So a family of four could get two cheesesteaks, two waters, two free kids meals all for $6.00. And top it off with some Amy’s Ice Cream — all of the profits of which go to charity.
All proof of why my accountant thinks I am an idiot.
At this very moment in my life, it just ain’t about the money. It’s about love and celebration and stuff that is as sweet as ice cream. Even sweeter.
