Yeah, baby. You know what I'm talkin' about.
The folks out west sure know how to cook 'em. There's Ollie's Station in Red Fork on Main Street America. There's Chicory and Chives, Tulsa's new favorite Cajun joint. Ever hear of Knotty Pine BBQ? No? Then you must not be from 'round these parts. And don't even try to forget Happy Burger.
And then, there's Avalon Steakhouse. It's - well, it's just - okay, I'll say this. If you hear that I died and lost my ticket to heaven, you'll know where to find me.
I'm sorry, but (click to enlarge and seal the death of any chance I might have had of being a serious food critic under this name):
Hoo boy, Lord have mercy strawberry rhubarb pie.
We met my mom and Meme at Avalon for Mothers Day Sunday afternoon. It had been so long since I'd eaten there that I couldn't remember if they made barbecue or steak. Shame on me, right? But it's okay. I flogged myself silly (five times!) as punishment.
Momma. That sure is a purdy steak you got there.
Okay, Mother. Stop. My heart, it aches. It longs. It quivers with fear.
My sweet stepdad's Porterhouse. It's heart-shaped like a meaty Valentine for a reason.
See that? That's Chicken Scalloppini. That's what Hubs and I had to share.
I say "had to" because, while I'm usually more than happy to share anything and everything with my dear and loving husband, this was just not one of those times. In fact, I actually contemplated whether or not he'd notice if I started stashing forks full of the stuff in my purse. You know, for later. So I could eat and moan in peace.
I need to say something before we all get worked up beyond good logic and reason: Before you head out to Avalon, along Route 66 just north of Sapulpa, be sure you're situated to pay for the pleasure. On the day we went, the Surf and Turf was $80. Not that it wouldn't be worth every penny, because it would, and I'm sure it's far and away the best thing on the menu. Just don't walk through those doors and expect to come back out having sacrificed anything less than $100 to the steak gods.
You know what, though, you guys?
What the hell. Mortgage the kids and order the filet.