Brady’s Restaurant -- Brady, Texas

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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“The Duke” approves. Brady’s Restaurant, located just off Highway 87 in the little town of Brady, is a tidy little roadside place (if a bit over decorated with western style motifs and John Wayne pictures).

Dizzied by traveling many miles from Amarillo and hungry for some classic road food, we started with an order of jalapeno poppers with a blue cheese dressing for dipping. This was a mistake, as the poppers were clearly store bought. They also came out with the fiery heat of a hundred volcanoes. Famished by road hunger, I bit in and was scalded with a scorching blast of processed cheddar cheese. The memory (and scar on the top of my mouth) still haunts me.

Seeking a bit of a change, I chose chicken fried chicken over the chicken fried steak (Chicken Fried Father ordered the steak). It was a good choice. The chicken was well seasoned and pounded very thin (very, very thin). It was so thin that it ended up curling up into a winged origami shape. With a tasty gravy, we’d be all set. Unfortunately the gravy was too soupy and with very little taste. Even a liberal dose of salt and pepper could not bring this CFC back to quality. The chicken fried steak, on the other hand, was also pounded thin but was flavorless. Coupled with the flavorless gravy, there wasn’t much good to say about it, except that I was pleased I hadn’t ordered it.

The CFS was accompanied by green beans, which tasted tinny and were clearly from a can (a tin can), and the CFC was sided by corn, which was also from a can but was less offensive. The mashed potatoes were actually quite tasty. They were lumpy with the skin on and a good garlic flavor. A perfectly buttered and toasted Texas toast was the saving grace for a meal that didn’t satisfy in terms of quantity.

A few tweaks and the CFC would be a good dish. As it is, ask for the gravy on the side.

Hill’s Burgers – Canyon, Texas

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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Just outside Palo Duro State Park is the little town of Canyon, Texas. South of town is Hill’s Burgers, a little burger café with a wide menu. Since it was 10:30 in the morning and we had several hundred miles to cover that afternoon, we chose to eat…uh, light… and go for some sandwich fare.

I chose the chicken fried steak sandwich. Inspired by the traveling the highway and the Canyon, I noticed that all the sandwiches had the option for chili to be added. Done. Our friendly waitress said she had never heard of it before, but seeing the smile on our faces made her a believer. The flavor combination was excellent – the smokiness of the chili and the salty bite of the chicken fried steak made for a wonderful amalgamation. Unfortunately, the steak was as tough as an old shoe. On my first bite, as I moved the sandwich away from my face, the remnants exploded away from my mouth as the steak remained behind. The onion rings (“best in the state” as proclaimed on the window) were tasty with a flaky crust, although the rings were cut a bit thin for my taste.

The motto of Hill’s is “you cook ‘em, you build ‘em” (a sizeable middle table allows you to put all the fixings on your burger or sandwich). So, you can only half blame them if your food isn’t good. Still, this is a fun little burger joint and I’d go back, although I’d probably opt for the burger.

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.

Turning Point Café ― Lamesa, 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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Turning point indeed. As the textured fantasy of hill country gave way to the isolated beauty desert and plains, we strode into the Turning Point Café for sustenance. Several (old) locals were eating a late lunch at this café-come-diner which was rundown but not in a charming way.

CFS ($7.99) only came with mashed potato and a house salad. The CFS was very, very tough. There were times where I had to stop myself from eating to give a few extra chews. I certainly made for an uninteresting lunch companion as my mouth was constantly closed (manners, you know) to continue masticating. The gravy was unremarkable and without much flavor. Not enough salt, pepper or love in this dish.

The salad was a sad little offering, with store-bought lettuce and ranch dressing. The dressing had that acrid taste that defines store bought salad dressing. The mashed were under seasoned and without much flavor. It also had an odd soapy taste as well.

Overall, it was a sad little place, not unlike the rest of Lamesa which seems to be on hard times. It made us lament the decline of small towns like this, and the concurrent decline of little diners that we so love.

Texas Traditions – Port Lavaca, 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 perfect stretch of road that runs from Port Lavaca to Textline (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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Right at the mouth of the Amarillo Highway, on “main street” don’t you know, is Texas Traditions. Big wood tables and chairs (with stars), gave a nod to the Texas style.

We split the CFS, unsure of how much food we'd be eating down the road, a southern style offering. The crust to meat ratio was perfect. The steak was tender and perfectly cooked. The gravy was excellent. Hearty, strengthened by chicken stock, the balance of salt and (white) pepper was top notch.

Mashed potatoes and green beans accompanied. Both were strong offerings, but neither was truly excellent. The mashed was lumpy and rich, and played nicely with the gravy. The beans, while presenting like canned beans, were actually stewed fresh with bacon and had a nice flavor. The “dinner roll” was an unfortunate site: small, clearly reheated and dehydrating, it was ignored in favor of other food.

The *killer* was the Jack Daniel’s pecan pie. A wonderful crunch from the pecans and a buttery, flaky crust made was outstanding. We considered adding a dollop of whipped cream to cut the sugar, but didn’t want to indulge so early in the trip. The perfect start to a long voyage.

Norton's - Humble, Texas

Hearing good things about the CFS at Norton's from Chicken Fried Neighbor, I sought out to partake in some fried goodness after a month long (unhappy) hiatus.

Sadly, I was disappointed in my return to the fried treat. The CFS was as hard as an armadillo shell. The breading was crispy, which I like, but almost inpenetrable, which I don't like. It looked (and tasted) like it had been run over by a bus. The meat, likely as a result of way overfrying, was dense and tough. The gravy was honest enough to itself, creamy and white, but needing a dash more salt and pepper.

The quality and taste of the sides were mixed. The potatoes were whipped and creamy. The flavor was good, but they were a bit greasy and lost their appeal as they cooled. The green beans were very good. A wide bean, they were stewed and meaty.

Overall, Norton's gets an "avoid." I will likely go back, the draw of helmet-on-helmet violence and cheering Texans fans is too good to pass up, but will restrict myself to the wings of chickens and malted and hopped water.

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Brenda's - Flatonia, TX

Brenda's is a prototypical cafe hidden behind the mega highway. Serving good food and good cheer, it's worth seeking out a little hideaway like this. The decor on the inside was eclectically Texas: cowboy hats, rodeo pictures and clippings of local high school gridiron glory. Overall, very comfortable. The place was packed with locals talking about weekend trips to San Antonio and local sports.

The CFS was an interesting change for me. It was a central Texas snitzel-style, fitting as we were in the center of Czech Texas. It was a bit overcooked as the meat was tough and difficult to chew. The gravy was a very thin but tasty drizzle but not thick enough for my taste.

The sides, however, made up for everything. The handcut french fries were hot an salty. Beautiful. The Texas toast was grilled to perfection and perfectly soft on the inside.

So, hop off I-10 and find Brenda's. Or one of the other hundreds of similar places. You'll be hapy you did.