The Big Texan ― Amarillo, TX

EDITOR’S NOTE: Embracing our wanderlust in the summer of 2010, Chicken Fried Father and I set out on an adventure to traverse the “Amarillo Highway,” a stretch of road that runs from Port Lavaca to Texline (on the border of New Mexico) and immortalized in a song by Terry Allen. The following entries chronicle our trip, food-wise at least.

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A standard stopping point for curiosity seekers and truck drivers intent on eating their weight in sodium, the Big Texan is a Route 66 staple. It’s hard to miss, given the giant boot outside, but the construction on the highway and fatigue nearly made us miss.

Now, I love to celebrate Texas. No doubt. But this place feels like the kind of place someone would design as a Texas casino in Las Vegas. A carnival atmosphere. Over the top, often obnoxious (especially the cowboy-clad waitstaff) and full of tourists taking photos of “what Texas is like.”

But, how was the food, you ask?

One of the worst CFS I have ever had. It was overpriced ($15.99), pre-frozen and store bought. The breading was worse than frozen CFS’s I’ve purchased at the grocery. The meat (I’m being generous calling it meat) was mushy and without any flavor. The gravy had no flavor. It was unworthy of the name chicken fried steak. The baked potato, albeit plain, was OK. In relation to the awful rest of the meal, it was a welcome addition.

But, it was big.