Author – Grant
From – Tulsa, Oklahoma
To – Amarillo, Texas
Via – Route 66, Sort Of
Miles Driven – 364 (excluding distracting tangents, wrong turns and loop-backs)
Words Kate Has Challenged Me To Exclude From This Blog – “Route”
Number of Times “Route” Is Mentioned – 12
Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615011217771/
The bonus of having such a quiet Saturday night was ensuring that we awoke with the larks on Sunday morning, raring and ready for a day exploring The Mother Road. All was going swimmingly until, after about an hour of driving, we realised that the clocks had gone forward and our early morning wasn’t so early after-all. I guess this is one of the disadvantages of being so far removed from the real world but luckily that list is extremely short and clearly the benefits outweigh the pitfalls. It also depends how you view these things – the pessimist glass-half-empty characters would complain of an hour lost, but to us ever-cheerful optimists, it just means we’re an hour closer to lunch. Or, to be more accurate, lunches.
The legendary Route 66 was commissioned in 1926 and stretched from LA to C
hicago. I use the past tense because these days, much of it has fallen into disrepair and is undrivable thanks to the modern Interstate motorways (mainly the I-40 and I-44) which have been built either alongside or over the old road in order to replace it. Whilst this means many of the quaint Route 66 businesses such as road-side diners have been forced to shut down or relocate thanks to the lack of passing trade, it’s tough to argue against a road that takes 4 hours to cross a state rather than 10. As unromantic as it may be, progress is progress and there’s no avoiding it. People rally against this development not because their journey time is shorter, but because the new road inevitably has become like a chase scene from Scooby Doo with the same generic, chain (and mostly terrible) food stops repeatedly passing by every few miles…McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King…repeat to cardiac arrest. The simple economics is that property leasing rates at interstate junctions are only affordable by big corporates and hence the little, unique businesses suffer…unless you’re willing to take a 3 minute detour to hunt them out. Herein lies the problem…we aren’t willing to spend those 3 minutes hunting. So as easy as it is to slate the convenience of Modern America’s fast food chains – we do have a choice and maybe we should be happy to spend some of the 6 hours journey time the I-40 has saved us seeking out more worthy recipients of our dollars and avoid a polystyrene box of processed crap as a nice little sub-reward.
Oklahoma is lucky enough to have the most drivable miles of the original Route 66 of any state it passes through and is littered with attractions (all conveniently pointed out to us by the Oklahoma Route 66 guide we picked up) but the road is generally in pretty naff condition and subsequently it was incredibly quiet despite being a beautiful, cloudless Oklahoman day. But with the radio tuned into non-stop 60’s hits and a little imagination, it was easy enough to understand why this road has so many fans as the mere sight of a historic Route 66 sign had us screeching to stop for photos all day. Admittedly it detracted considerably from the authenticity when we changed the radio channel to listen to the Everton FA Cup Quarter Final commentary but luckily Route 66 provides enough visual stimulation to compensate. In fact, if there is one thing this road isn’t short of, it’s photo ops. We have Route 66 memorabilia photos behind car cut outs, of old diners, motels, restaurants, hotels, museums, bowling alleys, soda bottles, factories, souvenir shops and a mini-golf course…anything, in fact, with the first two digits of the devil’s phone number got a cheesy grin and a snap.
Now I mentioned lunches (note the pleural) so let me explain. Breakfast was a really drab affair of soggy-even-before-being-milked cereal so when we came upon ‘Pops’, we thought we’d treat ourselves to a pre-lunch snackette. But when faced with the menu at this ultra-modern museum to all things fizzy, greed took over and a Strawberry Shake, a Chocolate Malt and PB&J Toastie and a BLT were accidentally and almost unconsciously ordered. Oops. The sandwiches were made using Texan Toast (i.e. the bread was think enough to provide adequate storm roofing) and were pretty good but the shake (which actually tasted like strawberries rather than chemically derived strawberry milkshake taste) and the chocolate malt (like a tub of barely melted Hagen Daas Belgian chocolate ice-cream infused with liquefied Malteser honeycomb centre) were truly outstanding.
Back on the road and time to check the next “must-see” on the list. Oh dear, it’s a burger place and it’s only 15 minutes away. Ah well, time to man up…and gou
t is a cooler way to go than being hit by a bus. Established the same year as Route 66 opened, Robert’s Grill is a little off the beaten track and more than a little off the FDA recommended food lists. Their speciality is the onion burger which, unsurprisingly, consists of a handful of ground chuck, shaped into a patty, thrown on a grill and a handful of thinly sliced yellow onions pressed into it. And that’s it – no seasoning, no binder, no filler. They serve theirs in a soft bun, with or without cheese, mayo, ketchup or American mustard. The technique to eating them is a) make sure you’re not on a first date b) check your hair and make-up (if applicable) in the shiny, reflective layer of grease that covers the bun and c) nail it. This may sound heathenistic but they taste great and not a long-way off how a McDonalds burger is probably supposed to taste but, o
f course, with less lips, nose and scrotum.
Originally we were to stop somewhere in western Oklahoma but, as were seemed to be enjoying the driving, we decided to plough on into the Texan panhandle and, specifically Amarillo. The thing is, 364 miles is a hell of a long journey so, for the last quarter, we played an in-car full blown game of Trivial Pursuit. I don’t think the highway code permits the rolling of dice and reading of questions at 70mph but it sure made the last 100 miles fly by. It consumed the supposedly Catholic Kate so much that whilst visiting the largest free-standing religious cross in the Western Hemisphere, she seemed more interested in getting back in the car to get her pink question for a cheese than studying the 13 phases of Jesus’ execution. By the way, she got the question wrong AND she booked a place in hell…probably not her best 3 minutes on this planet.
Our chosen accommodation just happens to be attached to the most famous res
taurant in the panhandle. The Big Texan has been dishing out whopping steaks for decades and their particular quirk is that if you can eat a 72oz steak dinner in under an hour then it’s free. Whilst this might already sound like a hideous and impossible task, let me add that “dinner” means that your Flintstones steak comes with a breaded shrimp appetiser, a baked potato, a side salad and a bread roll. As we arrived, six silent and ashen faced people were up on the stage with 20 minutes left on the clock and not a snowball’s chance in hell of finishing so they would all be paying the meagre $50 for their public humiliation. Our waiter reckoned that one in nine people finish this challenge but I just can’t believe it. Apparently the record time for completing the challenge is…wait for it…8 minutes and 52 seconds. That’s just not human.
But before you think “I wonder how Grant fared?” – I did not and would never take on this challenge as it can only be incredibly detrimental to your health. Whilst getting ready to go to dinner, we had a program on in the background called Half Tom Mum (after being cut out of her house here in Texas, she had a gastric bypass and eventually died) which k
ind of hampered our appetites but even without the timely reminder, it’s clearly a no-no. Instead, we were to skip appetisers and just dive into a more human sized steak. But what is this I see on the menu…Mountain Oysters…haven’t I been challenged by Haddock to eat these? Lovely. For the more innocent among you, mountain oysters (aka Rocky Mountain Oysters, Prairie Oysters, Montana Tendergroins, Cowboy Caviar, Swinging Beef or Calf Fries) have nothing to do with seafood. If the nicknames haven’t given it away, they are buffalo, boar or bull testicles…usually breaded, deep fried (of course) and served with a dipping sauce; cocktail in this case. To be honest, they were so heavily battered that the taste of the offal barely came through and only when I performed some impromptu surgery could I isolate the testicle to get a more concentrated, iron flavour. Even Kate’s inappropriate and intentionally off-putting comments couldn’t stop me polishing off my plate of balls. Bring on the next course.
I seem to have eaten and therefore written about an awful lot of steak
s over the past week but this one probably goes down as the finest. I had a ribeye (shocker) and Kate managed to steer away from her usual Fillet in favour of the more flavourful Sirloin and both were excellent. Mine was cooked to medium rare perfection and came in a puddle of jus which was clearly made from actual pan drippings rather than that processed pre-made rubbish containing nothing more than salt and caramel coulouring. I was, yet again, in meaty heaven yet I felt surprisingly slim compared with our surrounding co-diners whose trousers could have doubled as medium sized tents. A few more beers followed in the whacky, souvenir and tat filled bar before needing to retire to concentrate on digestion once more.
From – Tulsa, Oklahoma
To – Amarillo, Texas
Via – Route 66, Sort Of
Miles Driven – 364 (excluding distracting tangents, wrong turns and loop-backs)
Words Kate Has Challenged Me To Exclude From This Blog – “Route”
Number of Times “Route” Is Mentioned – 12
Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615011217771/
The bonus of having such a quiet Saturday night was ensuring that we awoke with the larks on Sunday morning, raring and ready for a day exploring The Mother Road. All was going swimmingly until, after about an hour of driving, we realised that the clocks had gone forward and our early morning wasn’t so early after-all. I guess this is one of the disadvantages of being so far removed from the real world but luckily that list is extremely short and clearly the benefits outweigh the pitfalls. It also depends how you view these things – the pessimist glass-half-empty characters would complain of an hour lost, but to us ever-cheerful optimists, it just means we’re an hour closer to lunch. Or, to be more accurate, lunches.
The legendary Route 66 was commissioned in 1926 and stretched from LA to C
hicago. I use the past tense because these days, much of it has fallen into disrepair and is undrivable thanks to the modern Interstate motorways (mainly the I-40 and I-44) which have been built either alongside or over the old road in order to replace it. Whilst this means many of the quaint Route 66 businesses such as road-side diners have been forced to shut down or relocate thanks to the lack of passing trade, it’s tough to argue against a road that takes 4 hours to cross a state rather than 10. As unromantic as it may be, progress is progress and there’s no avoiding it. People rally against this development not because their journey time is shorter, but because the new road inevitably has become like a chase scene from Scooby Doo with the same generic, chain (and mostly terrible) food stops repeatedly passing by every few miles…McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King…repeat to cardiac arrest. The simple economics is that property leasing rates at interstate junctions are only affordable by big corporates and hence the little, unique businesses suffer…unless you’re willing to take a 3 minute detour to hunt them out. Herein lies the problem…we aren’t willing to spend those 3 minutes hunting. So as easy as it is to slate the convenience of Modern America’s fast food chains – we do have a choice and maybe we should be happy to spend some of the 6 hours journey time the I-40 has saved us seeking out more worthy recipients of our dollars and avoid a polystyrene box of processed crap as a nice little sub-reward.Oklahoma is lucky enough to have the most drivable miles of the original Route 66 of any state it passes through and is littered with attractions (all conveniently pointed out to us by the Oklahoma Route 66 guide we picked up) but the road is generally in pretty naff condition and subsequently it was incredibly quiet despite being a beautiful, cloudless Oklahoman day. But with the radio tuned into non-stop 60’s hits and a little imagination, it was easy enough to understand why this road has so many fans as the mere sight of a historic Route 66 sign had us screeching to stop for photos all day. Admittedly it detracted considerably from the authenticity when we changed the radio channel to listen to the Everton FA Cup Quarter Final commentary but luckily Route 66 provides enough visual stimulation to compensate. In fact, if there is one thing this road isn’t short of, it’s photo ops. We have Route 66 memorabilia photos behind car cut outs, of old diners, motels, restaurants, hotels, museums, bowling alleys, soda bottles, factories, souvenir shops and a mini-golf course…anything, in fact, with the first two digits of the devil’s phone number got a cheesy grin and a snap.
Now I mentioned lunches (note the pleural) so let me explain. Breakfast was a really drab affair of soggy-even-before-being-milked cereal so when we came upon ‘Pops’, we thought we’d treat ourselves to a pre-lunch snackette. But when faced with the menu at this ultra-modern museum to all things fizzy, greed took over and a Strawberry Shake, a Chocolate Malt and PB&J Toastie and a BLT were accidentally and almost unconsciously ordered. Oops. The sandwiches were made using Texan Toast (i.e. the bread was think enough to provide adequate storm roofing) and were pretty good but the shake (which actually tasted like strawberries rather than chemically derived strawberry milkshake taste) and the chocolate malt (like a tub of barely melted Hagen Daas Belgian chocolate ice-cream infused with liquefied Malteser honeycomb centre) were truly outstanding.
Back on the road and time to check the next “must-see” on the list. Oh dear, it’s a burger place and it’s only 15 minutes away. Ah well, time to man up…and gou
t is a cooler way to go than being hit by a bus. Established the same year as Route 66 opened, Robert’s Grill is a little off the beaten track and more than a little off the FDA recommended food lists. Their speciality is the onion burger which, unsurprisingly, consists of a handful of ground chuck, shaped into a patty, thrown on a grill and a handful of thinly sliced yellow onions pressed into it. And that’s it – no seasoning, no binder, no filler. They serve theirs in a soft bun, with or without cheese, mayo, ketchup or American mustard. The technique to eating them is a) make sure you’re not on a first date b) check your hair and make-up (if applicable) in the shiny, reflective layer of grease that covers the bun and c) nail it. This may sound heathenistic but they taste great and not a long-way off how a McDonalds burger is probably supposed to taste but, o
f course, with less lips, nose and scrotum.Originally we were to stop somewhere in western Oklahoma but, as were seemed to be enjoying the driving, we decided to plough on into the Texan panhandle and, specifically Amarillo. The thing is, 364 miles is a hell of a long journey so, for the last quarter, we played an in-car full blown game of Trivial Pursuit. I don’t think the highway code permits the rolling of dice and reading of questions at 70mph but it sure made the last 100 miles fly by. It consumed the supposedly Catholic Kate so much that whilst visiting the largest free-standing religious cross in the Western Hemisphere, she seemed more interested in getting back in the car to get her pink question for a cheese than studying the 13 phases of Jesus’ execution. By the way, she got the question wrong AND she booked a place in hell…probably not her best 3 minutes on this planet.
Our chosen accommodation just happens to be attached to the most famous res
taurant in the panhandle. The Big Texan has been dishing out whopping steaks for decades and their particular quirk is that if you can eat a 72oz steak dinner in under an hour then it’s free. Whilst this might already sound like a hideous and impossible task, let me add that “dinner” means that your Flintstones steak comes with a breaded shrimp appetiser, a baked potato, a side salad and a bread roll. As we arrived, six silent and ashen faced people were up on the stage with 20 minutes left on the clock and not a snowball’s chance in hell of finishing so they would all be paying the meagre $50 for their public humiliation. Our waiter reckoned that one in nine people finish this challenge but I just can’t believe it. Apparently the record time for completing the challenge is…wait for it…8 minutes and 52 seconds. That’s just not human.But before you think “I wonder how Grant fared?” – I did not and would never take on this challenge as it can only be incredibly detrimental to your health. Whilst getting ready to go to dinner, we had a program on in the background called Half Tom Mum (after being cut out of her house here in Texas, she had a gastric bypass and eventually died) which k
ind of hampered our appetites but even without the timely reminder, it’s clearly a no-no. Instead, we were to skip appetisers and just dive into a more human sized steak. But what is this I see on the menu…Mountain Oysters…haven’t I been challenged by Haddock to eat these? Lovely. For the more innocent among you, mountain oysters (aka Rocky Mountain Oysters, Prairie Oysters, Montana Tendergroins, Cowboy Caviar, Swinging Beef or Calf Fries) have nothing to do with seafood. If the nicknames haven’t given it away, they are buffalo, boar or bull testicles…usually breaded, deep fried (of course) and served with a dipping sauce; cocktail in this case. To be honest, they were so heavily battered that the taste of the offal barely came through and only when I performed some impromptu surgery could I isolate the testicle to get a more concentrated, iron flavour. Even Kate’s inappropriate and intentionally off-putting comments couldn’t stop me polishing off my plate of balls. Bring on the next course.I seem to have eaten and therefore written about an awful lot of steak
s over the past week but this one probably goes down as the finest. I had a ribeye (shocker) and Kate managed to steer away from her usual Fillet in favour of the more flavourful Sirloin and both were excellent. Mine was cooked to medium rare perfection and came in a puddle of jus which was clearly made from actual pan drippings rather than that processed pre-made rubbish containing nothing more than salt and caramel coulouring. I was, yet again, in meaty heaven yet I felt surprisingly slim compared with our surrounding co-diners whose trousers could have doubled as medium sized tents. A few more beers followed in the whacky, souvenir and tat filled bar before needing to retire to concentrate on digestion once more.We are due to leave Texas tomorrow as we continue westbound into New Mexico. Well, that’s the plan.
1 comment:
Great Post. Somehow you've managed to include social comment on modern society's need for convenience, multiple mentions of scrotums, Everton Football club (i've included them in the list of scrotums), Jesus, the devil and Hell, you've skipped an eating challenge on 'health' grounds and you've completed the eat bull's testes challenge.
Good Work Fella.
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