Amarillo by Evenin'

With apologies to (from?) George Strait.  (Wow, they really should disable comments on that video.)

Early-esque morning, Taos.  There was still snow everywhere, but dammit, it was time to go.  The plan - Amarillo, Texas, by dinnertime.

We passed hillsides set up as small ski runs, negotiated hairpin turns, and got stuck for a time behind a truck with a giant advertisement for Amarillo tourism plastered on the back.  A cowboy astride his horse, picked out in silhouette against a red sunset, implored us to visit the Amarillo Symphony.

Instead, we passed the truck and drove to Las Vegas, New Mexico.  It may not have the glitz and synchronized fountains of the Nevada version, but it does have a nicely preserved downtown area without a bit of adobe construction. 

We stopped in briefly at a weaving center that offered classes and information.  I loved reading about cochineal farming - the insects that are crushed to prepare bright red dye - but I'm just not a fan of the heavy, scratchy traditional blankets that made up most of their offerings.

The shop did have beautiful, naturally dyed and handspun yarns, with pictures of the breed of sheep that produced the wool.  Again, I wanna learn to knit!  Too bad resolutions aren't my thing.

Time for lunch!  At Estella's Cafe on historic Bridge Street, officeworkers were starting to gather.  We joined them.

I was getting seriously hangry (see hungry/angry) and was in dire need of eatings.  We placed our order, being sure to include one for chips and salsa since we expected they'd hit the table mere moments later.

But they didn't.  We waited and waited and waited some more.  Then, they finally arrived, and we realized why the wait - they were freshly fried, warm and crispy, served with a just right tangy spicy salsa.  THIS is what chips and salsa should be.

For lunch, we split the little-bit-of-everything combo plate and got one last bowl of green chile with beans. 

The food was all delicious, stick-to-your ribs heartiness.  Perfectly fried chile relleno, a creamy cheese enchilada topped with red and green chile because Christmas is just how we roll, more posole and beans and some meh rice (which seemed to be the rule in New Mexico) and a taco.  The green chile was great, full of bits of actual chile.  Nothing was photogenic, though, and I sort of feel like I've been posting a LOT of pictures of New Mexican food, so instead here's their wonderful poofity sopaipilla.

And back to the car and back on the road to Tucumcari and then to Amarillo.  We thought we were back down in the flat part of the country after spending a couple of hours winding down from Taos that morning, and the countryside looked like this:

But then we turned a corner and it became clear that instead, we'd been on top of a giant mesa! 

A few more tight turns and nice vistas later, we found ourselves once again in flat country.  And then we whipped past a sizeable gravel pile with a mysterious sign sticking out of the top. 

Soon enough we arrived in Tucumcari, a small town that used to be a stop along Route 66.  It's also where my great-great-great grandmother Eliza Clarissa Dibble Robertson taught school around the turn of the last century, so what, we weren't going to go?

I don't think Eliza Clarissa taught at this school, dating to 1902.  It's been turned into a wonderful historical museum, really a snapshot of the town.

The place is great, a large comple of buildings and machinery and carriages and cabooses and old fire trucks dating to 1928.  For instance. 

Large rooms were stuffed full of bric-a-brac - pharmaceutical supplies,

kitchen appliances (I'd like to see you stick a fork in THIS toaster)

and a large basement stuffed with rocks held back by chicken wire.

 

The place was GREAT.  It was the labor of love of Herman Moncus, who used to own the Elk Drug in town and collected just a huge variety of objects.  Many of the things we saw had tags on them identifying the townsperson who donated them. 

The place had a good sense of humor, too.

All in all, a great way to spend $3 and a good use of a couple of hours. I think kids would get a lot of enjoyment out of the place, too.

After checking out the many outbuildings, we wedged ourselves back in to the car and got back on the road to Texas.  Dammit.

We smelled Amarillo before we saw it.  This was not a gradual, sneaky smell, either.  Suddenly the car smelled as though we had a flaulent cow in the backseat, and perhaps a mile down the road we saw a sea of cows, penned in closely with the rest of their herd. 

I'm not going to go into a screed against fatory farming, because this post is plenty long enough, but can I just say one word?  EW.

Amarillo was big and flat and brightly lit with neon.  Just on the other side of town was our stop for the night, the BIG TEXAN.  Y'know, for our big welcome back to Texas.  The place is a steakhouse (immortalized on the Simpsons) but it also has an attached hotel with Texas flag shower curtains and swinging saloon doors and a small pool shaped like Texas.  It's big, it's kitschy, it's a big freaking texas kind of place.

The dining room is a huge barn of a place, with a table up in the middle on a pedestal.

If you've been to the website or seen the relvant Simpsons episode, you already know what that table is for.  On the menu is a 72-ounce steak.  If you eat the steak, a baked potato, a roll, a salad, and a "shrimp cocktail" - actually three fried shrimp - within an hour, you get your meal free.

72 ounces, by the way, is four and a half pounds, or just over two kilos.  Our waitress says in her experience someone attempts the eating feat once a day, and one person per week is successful.  "It seems to me," she said "that more people are able to eat the whole thing than back when I started here five years ago." 

The pedestal is televised at all hours, by the way, so you can check here to see if anyone's giving it a try right now.

We were seated just in time to see Jason from Florida take on the steak.

Husbear walked up to him and asked, "So, you think you got this?"  Jason didn't sound so certain.

So the Mr. came back to our table and we ordered some calf fries.

Good fried yumminess, served with ranch dressing.  I still prefer ketchup with my fried stuff - maybe I just haven't been in the South long enough.

By the time we got our giant ribeye steak, Jason had given up and left the pedestal table with almost thirty ounces left.  Looz-erh.  Not that I'm about to try it - we didn't even finish our ribeye between the two of us, and I think that was maybe 18 ounces.  Still four and a half times the amount of meat in an actual serving.

So, that brings us out of New Mexico and back into Texas.  With ten hours of driving ahead of us the next day, we toted our full-of-steak bellies across the parking lot to our oh-so-Texas motel.  Good night.

Comments

[Sara, Ms. Adventures in Italy]

No Rocky Mountain Oysters? I went to the Big Texan driving from CA to TX one year :) There was a big trucker sitting on that pedestal.

[Krista]

I´m so ashamed - after 18 years in TX, I´ve never even heard of that place. But it sounds like it encompasses all the idiosyncracies and cliches of the good ole Lone Star State, haha!

[Boots in the Oven]

Sara, it would have been awesome to have a trucker up there... Jason just didn't seem confident AT ALL. We did get the Rocky Mountain Oysters, though they're called calf fries on the menu - I sorta glossed over that on this humongopost!

Krista, well, you'll just have to make the pilgrimage, right? It's certainly a huge number of Texas cliches under one roof...

[Albany Jane]

I love the moustache, and oddly enough, that can be one of the smaller TX 'staches. Put me down for 'tiny in comparison'.

Did you guys at least get to choose your own cow? Tee hee!

[Boots in the Oven]

Nope! No cow selection. And they didn't allow us to cook it, either. Actually, the steak wasn't very good... they don't age their beef. Disappointing, but I guess you aren't really there for the beef quality.