By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
Months it's been open: 2
Trophies made into paper-towel holders: 20
If Coach's Burgers knows one thing, it's how to name a burger joint. In this town, it's tough enough picking out a cool restaurant name, but on top of that, half of the good ones are already taken. Can't name your place Adair's or Angry Dog. Can't name it Twisted Root, Wingfield's, Chip's, Jake's, Keller's, Joe's or even Balls (huge mega disappointment), which forces people to resort to making up terrible non-word names for their establishments that make you never want to eat there (ahem, Mooyah, Ruddfuckers). But a name like Coach's is the perfect burger joint name. It's got the sports reference front and center and on top of that, it also has everyone's favorite restaurant name ingredient: the apostrophe "S."
I ordered a cheeseburger, which was more complicated than I thought it would be.
Me: I'd like a cheeseburger.
Lady: What kind of cheese?
Lady: Is that Dutch? Sounds like it might be a blue.
Me: Blue it is.
I also ordered onion rings and a drink. I filled up my soda at one of the two fountains in the restaurant. You heard me right, they bought one for each room. What a bold move. Free refills without the danger of burning calories? Innovation's my favorite.
They've got a pretty big menu, including salads for stupid hos and turkey burgers for picky bitches, so they should be able to sufficiently feed the entire population spectrum of plastic to patchouli that exists in Dallas. My biggest hope is that Coach's will one day take over that CVS pharmacy that's nearby. It seriously sucks. I mean, what's the one thing every good pharmacy should have? CD-Rs. Exactly. I fart in that CVS' general direction.
When I went to Coach's, it wasn't too packed, but I don't think that's gonna last. The onion rings they served up were great, and the buttery burger bun made extra points with me. Sure, it's located in the heart of suburbia so you'll be brushing shoulders with tweens driving mom vans and grandmas having their biweekly "Have we not seen Greta in a while because she's busy or because she's dead?" luncheons, but the game'll be on.