Welcome to The Strip Club, highlighting Austin’s destination strip malls. Who else would try to knock you off the Dry January bandwagon? (Editor’s Note: Yep, we kept bumping this review for three months. Sorry, Taylor!) Tempt you with a penis-shaped cookie cutter for baking class? Offer a $4 burger in exchange for guitar chops? Hope you guess my name – we’re standin’ at the Crossroads!
Once captained by Dallas-based, normcore restaurant lodestar Norman Brinker – the man of wealth and taste behind Bennigan’s, On the Border, and Steak and Ale – Chili’s sucks. I’ve been boycotting since well before the 2,700-calorie Awesome Blossom got the death penalty in the late Aughts, in no small part because the dismal interior could double as a tongue-in-cheek art installation titled “Airport Dining” – depressing bar area, rewards program offering “Free Chips and Salsa,” a touchscreen on the table for contactless payment or video games, and NO NAPKINS.
Worse, as I’m rawdogging Dry January, a fiendish placard on the table teases “The Resolution Breaker Marg” for six bucks, and no amount of water is going to help me choke down these baby back ribs that are somehow simultaneously bone dry and sweeter than molasses. In my defense, I was seduced by the local meme demons hyping the one at 45th and Lamar and plead temporary insanity.
I want my money back money back money back.
But instead of asking Norman for a refund, I double down on questionable life choices and head to the “casino” in the corner of the strip mall to try and win my money back. RedStar Social is full of men with chips and chairs yukkin’ it up, but having left my poker face at home, I head instead for a one-armed bandit named “Huff n Puff,” and win just enough to exit with a cool “Bomb Pit Expert” T-shirt.
The real reason I came down to the Crossroads wasn’t to bargain with the Dark Lord for musical stardom, but to check out newly opened Ten Seconds Noodle House. There are over 750 of them in China, so I think that means it’s their version of Chili’s.
The house specialty is “Cross the Bridge Noodle Soup,” originating from a Yunnan folk tale about a scholar whose wife delivered him a bowl of noodle soup across a bridge, but combined the ingredients upon arrival so they wouldn’t get soggy. The hot pot setup offers a variety of complex broths (my favorites include Szechuan Mala Spicy and Pickled Green Pepper), into which you dump ramekins of shrimp, quail egg, corn, cabbage, sliced beef, mushrooms, tofu, rice noodles, etc., before waiting the requisite 10 Mississippi to dive in.
Alternately, you can get your steamy bowl pre-assembled (with some interesting options like Hot Pot Beef Tripe Noodle and Sauerkraut Fish Filet), or with a variety of add-ons including lamb, fish fillet, tripe, tendon, and pork ribs. They also serve dry rice noodles, cold Chinese appetizers (smashed cucumber, spicy beef tendon, and mala beef tripe), and a smattering of Japanese offerings (two kinds of ramen, seaweed salad, shrimp tempura, and takoyaki). The food here is warm, delicious, and satisfying.
If you have lots of disposable income, Crossroads is a great place to part with it. There are specialty shops for boats, motorcycles, tattoos, and soccer, but for the rest of us, there’s Over the Top Cake Supplies, which takes you exactly where it says it will. The store offers all manner of outrageous confectionery provisions, including an astonishingly broad selection of unusual sprinkles in the shape of a basketball, palm tree, hard hat, UFO, and flip-flop. They don’t bake cake, but their adjacent academy holds classes several days a week where one can explore the finer points of kolaches, cinnamon rolls, and fondant. Let us eat cake!
Next door, inside local lust-mart Tabu Lingerie, an older gentleman appears totally unfazed as I watch him size up teddies for himself. But this place is more than just slinky skivvies; it’s also a place to track down hard-to-find copulation accessories like the “Candy Posing Pouch” (edible men’s underwear made of Smarties), a Connect Four-inspired sex game called Foreplay in a Row, and a two-ended dildo with a catchphrase on the package that reads “Back to the Basics.” What in the devil?
Le Bleu, sister restaurant to Saigon on 7th, is a quality choice for Vietnamese cuisine. Amiable Saigonese owner Tebi Nguyen, who’s been in Austin for 30 years, personally takes my order before offering an unabridged history of their house-made sambal, which is simply red jalapeño, garlic, sugar, and salt, fermented for one week. It’s light and fresh, evoking the discernible difference between fresh salsa and jarred, and best of all, they sell bottles of it to go.
This place has killer appetizer offerings (mango salad, corn ribs, grilled octopus skewers, and Brussels sprouts), alongside the usual bun, pho, and bánh mì (which come with the unusual possibility of adding shredded green mango and avocado), but what sets this location apart from its sibling is its expanded dinner menu, featuring bánh xèo (a Vietnamese crepe you cut into strips, wrap in lettuce, basil, and shredded mango, then dip in fish sauce), cà ri chay (yellow curry in coconut cream with cauliflower and mushrooms), cá chiên (whole fried branzino with green onion, mango, and chili garlic fish sauce), bò lúc lac (marinated rib eye with watercress, tomatoes, and radish), salt-and-pepper shrimp, and seasonal crawfish prepared Viet-Cajun style in garlic, fish, sauce, and coconut cream – sweet, spicy, and wonderful. Recommended.
Next door, Hook & Reel Cajun Seafood & Bar is a national chain peddling seafood boils, but after barely escaping Chili’s with my sobriety and tasting Tebi’s delectable mudbugs, I can’t do it.
But if you’re hell-bent on a genuine old-school American dining experience – without selling out to corporate overlords – look no further than The Bon Aire, a “Midwestern Bar” with “1993 Prices.”
Neighborly and full of St. Louis Cardinals memorabilia, their $3.99 Fast Freddie ½-lb. burger, 39-cent Peel-n-Eat Shrimp, and free popcorn offer unbelievable economy, but the owners make it make sense: It’s dine-in only, so this bargain blast from the past is designed to keep asses on stools. To quote a former Chili’s catchphrase, it’s “like no place else.”
Crossroads Shopping Center
9070 Research Blvd.
This article appears in March 14 • 2025.