Post #92 – In which Mike travels to Texas for work.
SUV with longhorn rifle rack – Check
Googlemapped directions from DFW Airport to Fort Worth Omni Hotel – Check
Roadhouse Country station on satellite radio – Check
I hit the Texan freeways with my old friends Merle, Johnny, and Patsy.
Had it all planned out: get work done on the plane to free up my afternoon, arrive in Fort Worth with enough daylight to explore downtown, take instagram worth-y pictures, learn some history, and write-up a quaint little blog post.
I park the Jeep and step out into this:
Blazing sun, 108 degrees F, or, 42.2 C to the rest of the world.
There’s a moment of shock—a gasp—then rapid pooling of perspiration on my brow and groinal region.
“Holy devil’s butthole!” I squeak, almost passing out, partitioning the painful sun from my pale face with a translucent hand.
Sprint inside the Omni Hotel.
“Is it hot out there, yet?” the receptionist asks me.
“Uhh, yeah,” I say, sweating like Robin Williams circa, well, I suppose the entire 80’s .
“I can tell. Your credit card is hot.”
After a couple of complimentary bottles of water, I set out, intent on bringing my readers the very best of North Central Texas: a walk-a-bout to disprove the gun-toting, cattle-driving, bible proselytizing generalizations of the region.
Outside, only two blocks down, and hyperhidrosis has opened the valves full torque. I’m panting, at sea level, and I’m very aware of the burning tips of my ears.
A man runs down the street in shorts, tshirt, and headband; not 50 feet later I hear a “whoosh!”, and look to see the runner—not on fire—but instantaneously relegated to ash that scatters and blows away in the hairdryer breeze.
Defeated, I head back inside.
Before you judge —if this were Thailand, or some other exotic, equator straddling region, I would have kept going. But it wasn’t/is not, so I bring you the very best of the inside of the Fort Worth Omni.
In the Room
This is the remote. Never, ever touch this device, for it has a billion germs on it, and you’re more likely to contract hiv by changing to the golf channel then raw-doggin’ with the local ‘zine’s page 36 masseuse.
These particular pillows are very nice; modern cowboy style (cowboy chic?). Accent pillows are to be kicked off the bed along with the comforter…while still wearing shoes. Do not let your hands, skin, or texan jesus forbid – your face – make contact with the pillows, no matter how clean they seem. Cesspool of DNA.
And ladies, never sit on the pillows – you’ll get pregnant instantaneously.
Always test the bouncity of your hotel bed. It’s imperative to understand how you will sleep and to show your neighbors, even if you are traveling alone, that you mean big business.
Around the Grounds
Serious for a moment— I’ve said before, I’m no hotel critic, but the Fort Worth Omni is a beautiful place with some great lines, and zen-ed out areas.
Once the weather chills to a tepid 99 degrees —I venture out again—and snap a pic with a ten foot bronze gentleman with a penchant for parted hair, and short blondes.
A JFK tribute—to the layman—seems more suited 35 minutes away in Dallas where his assassination occurred, but Fort Worth hosted Mr. Kennedy’s last speech. To commemorate his vision for the country, highlighted in said speech a day before his death, they (the folks of Fort Worth) erected this tribute, which reads — ‘Dallas Killed Him’.
I head over to the southern chain Flying Saucer Draught Emporium. Life tip: always eat at a place with the words ‘Flying Saucer Draught Emporium’ in it. The food (Saucer Dipster – basically french onion dip with extraterrestrial flare) was really tasty with a great local beer (Southern Star Buried Hatchet Stout). Though the spicy ‘Rocket Tots’ would come back to haunt me hours later while I was running on a treadmill.
Guts: “Uhhh, Mike. We have a problem.”
Me: “Nonononono I’m running!”
The Vittles, Ya’ll!
If you’re ever in the Fort Worth area – make sure to eat at Ellerbe’s Fine Foods on Magnolia Ave. It’s advertised as a farm-to-table restaurant typical of those so popular with the kids these days. Ordered the pheasant, and was disappointed when I received my food as I thought I had ordered the ‘peasant’. The pheasant was delicious, but oh how tasty would human meat be…
Donnor party of 3, Donner par-ty of 3.
If you’re in the general Dallas airport area (Coppell), in an unassuming industrial wasteland passed the stripclub row, go to Hard 8 BBQ pit; a place I have been dream cheating on Marti with since eating there last week.
The place is run by a guy who looks like Champ from Anchor Man
Rest assured, it’s amazing. There’s a pavilion outside, with two massive grills, roaring with hickory smoke, to queue around. Waiting outside, near the heat source is basically the same temp as satan’s nethers, but the meat sizzle/smell is pure heavenly bliss.
Sausage, ribs, brisket, kabobs, bacon-wrapped shrimp poppers, corn, chicken, pork chops, sirloin, ham – all this BEFORE getting to the sides.
My plate tops out at 1.1 lbs of meat. I walk in to sweet central air-conditioning for some side dishes, and to gorge on a bit of carnivore heaven before heading to the airport. When TSA scanned my body, they were so impressed by how much meat I had consumed they gave me a sticker.
I worked; I ate; I drank — thanks, TX.
Stay tuned, Roamers:
Next week I travel to Wisconsin to find my favorite beer. Then, I camp on an uninhabited island with a guy named Coyote.