By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
"Darlin'" count: 1,298
Homemade pies on the counter count: 5
Holy shit," I mumbled, a mouthful of spicy fried chicken sandwich in my mouth, "this is fuckin' stupendous." No, I wasn't at Wendy's, you dumbass. I was scarfing down a sandwich and Texas fries (for a mere $9.64, and I wasn't even ordering off of the ridiculously long lunch specials menu) at Mama's Daughters', a linoleum-floored, wipe-your-feet-and-don't-hold-the-door-open-you're-letting-out-all-the-A/C Dallas diner that's been around since way before Rollerblades were invented.
I don't know how those coked-out tween celebs do the whole anorexia gig. I go four hours without a meat binge and I'm gnawing on my steering wheel questioning the meaning of life.
But when I opened the door at Mama's Daughters' to the smell of fry grease and homemade meringue pies, I knew everything would be OK. There's so much good shit on the menu at this place you'd better bring a buddy to mooch off of. I did. And because of my numerous unapologetic "You gonna eat that?"s, I can tell you that the spicy chicken sandwich, Texas fries, chicken-fried steak, mac and cheese, green beans, mashed potatoes and cornbread at this place are fanfuckindamntastic. And because the food is that good, don't come here if you're on a strict schedule. This isn't a fast-food joint. Like chicken-fried chicken or chicken-fried steak? Cornbread or regular bread or both? And do you want all this fat slathered directly onto your ass, thighs or both? (Personally, I send 100 percent of it to my ass. I'm building up a nice lard savings account there that I plan to draw from when it's time to turn my everyday face into a face with bigger, better Meg Ryan butt lips.)
The atmosphere at Mama's Daughters' is great too. Painters next to me were talking gloss versus matte, regulars showed up asking my waitress, "How was Hawaii?," and business dudes were doing that "I'm letting loose" move where they throw their ties over their shoulders. And the staff is kickass. While I was there, I heard waitresses use the word "hon" in at least eight different ways ranging from meaning "sweetheart" to "assface" and every one of them delivering it with a smile.