There's a sandwich argument I've been having with myself for years. On one side: the chicken fried steak. Crispy, golden, smothered in cream gravy — the official state dish of…
When I was a kid, Sundays meant sliding into the same booth at the diner next to our church. The waitress already knew our order — pancakes for me, black…
A friend of mine once spent a long weekend in Oklahoma and came back with a very specific look on her face — the look of someone who had expected…
Road trips teach you things that travel guides don't. They teach you that the best meal of a trip rarely happens at the restaurant you planned for. It happens at…
My aunt used to make oxtails on the last Sunday of every month, and I would start thinking about them around Thursday. She'd start the pot early in the morning,…
Growing up, there was a family-owned Mexican spot in our town where the owner seemed to know everyone by first name. The booths were worn smooth. The margaritas were enormous.…
In our household, Friday nights meant the kitchen filling with the crackle of hot oil and the earthy scent of cornmeal. To my family, fried catfish wasn’t just food; it…
Breakfast is the meal I'm most opinionated about. Not dinner — anyone can get worked up about a fine dining tasting menu. I'm talking about the meal that sets the…
Here's one of my personal rules on road trips: if I smell smoke from the highway, I pull over. No exceptions. No "I'll stop on the way back." The "on…
My grandmother had a rule about fried chicken: if you can't smell it from the street, don't bother going in. It's an extreme standard. But there's something to it. The…
Some of the best food experiences happen at places that refuse to be impressive. No exposed brick. No craft cocktail menu. No host stands with an iPad. Just a window,…
Route 66 is one of my favorite kinds of American road trips. Not because of the destinations — although those are wonderful — but because of what happens between them.…