This last week, we were in Houston for just a day, but I managed to pack in quite a lot of touristing in that short amount of time.
Of course, while I’m traveling around a strange (to me) city, I use the handy GPS app on my iPhone. I love that thing, even if the woman doing the navigating gets a bit snippy at times. “Turn around when possible” is code for “Why did you even ask me for advice if you weren’t going to follow my instructions?” But I digress.
Have I mentioned that I’ve taken to carrying my cell phone tucked inside my bra while I’m traveling? It’s a habit I picked up from a friend at a writers’ conference (Tameri, I’m looking at you). It makes the phone easy to get to, and if my outfit doesn’t have pockets it means I don’t have to dig around in my purse to find it when it rings or gives directions. I have plenty of room in there to keep the phone, spare change, pens… you name it. But I only keep the phone. Really.
Keep that picture in the back of your mind for a moment.
When we arrived in Houston, it was close to dinner time, and a friend suggested we eat at a local place.
“They have great food, and bring an appetite.”
“But where is it?”
She mentioned an address. I dutifully plugged it into the GPS app.
“What’s it called?”
“Big Red C#$k.” (Insert the name for a male chicken there, or, alternately, a name for a male body part.)
“Seriously?” I glanced at my husband. “You want us to eat somewhere called the Big Red #$%@?” (henceforth I shall call it BRC).
“It’s great, trust me!”
I was dubious, but I love trying out local, non-chain, restaurants so what the heck. We took off in the direction of the BRC. The parking lot is minuscule, although I think you can park in the empty lot next to it, and the place itself isn’t that large. But it does have one thing that makes it stand out: a giant red… chicken, in the parking lot. When I saw that I knew we were in the right place.
Inside, the place is done up in irreverent chicken attitude. They knew exactly what they were doing when they chose the name, and they play it up with flare. In-you-face red wallpaper adorns the wall, along with pictures of “down home” type scenes and of course, a giant metal rooster on one of the tables. I grinned as I followed the waitress to our own little corner, entranced by the whimsy of it all.
And then my breast announced to the crowd that we’d arrived at our destination.
I couldn’t help it. I started to giggle. The waitress looked at me, perplexed. My husband studiously ignored the entire situation. I calmly pulled the phone out of my special hiding place and turned off the GPS lady.
I’d say I fit in with the crowd at the BRC.
The food is excellent. Bring a buddy, because it’s far too much for one person to attempt to eat. It’s comfort food on a grand scale. I had chicken biscuits; my husband had a cheeseburger. For the bacon fans, they have deep fried bacon as a “snack”. I didn’t try it, but I hear it’s delicious.
I did, however, try the bacon jam with my chicken biscuits. Yes, bacon and jam do actually go together.
If you’re in Houston, you simply must visit the BRC. I mean, how many times do you get to say “Today, I ate at the Big Red C@%k”?
Just be sure to turn off the GPS before you go in.
You’ve just given me a reason to visit Houston. My new mission in life to be able to say “I’m full because I ate at the Big Red C*ck,” with a straight face.