By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
Buffalo head on the wall count: 2
Dishtowel napkin on my lap count: 1
Just down the street from Commerce's burgerville, a nice little saloon just opened up. It's run by the people who brought you the tastegasmic Twisted Root Burger, and it promises to be equally yummy at the very least. Feast your face on Cowboy Chow.
The day I went, it was Total Recall melt-your-face-off hot outside. So, when I walked into Cowboy Chow I was extremely happy to notice that they weren't afraid to keep their fine A/C at a temperature that was somewhere around 30 below zero. Walking through their doors instantly made the sweat freeze to my face. It was glorious.
They sat me down at a nice table and a waitress (Yeah, they have actual waitpeople at this place, unlike the name-calling that happens at Twisted Root. Probably because they would have run out of cool Western names to call people really quickly. "Dude, Testicle Jones and Wild Bill Boobsie are not actual cowboy names." "Fine.") asked me what I'd like to drink. I went with water, seeing as how all the moisture from my body was now crystallized on my face. Another waiter took my order. I swear, by the end of my meal I'd been served by a ton of people. I'm not a super fan of the "team service" thing. It confuses me. When I get the check, which of the five people who waited on me am I tipping? Am I tipping the chick who got me water super fast, or the dude who recommended that I order potato chips instead of mashed potatoes, or the girl who sat with me at my table while she wrote down my order, which was really weird and makes me a little uncomfortable, so please never do that? I leave feeling like I got waiter gang-banged, and then I even had to pay for it.
But I digress. The food was amazing. I had the brisket sloppy Joe with homemade potato chips. It was brisket-y, sloppy and totally Joed.
This place is so Westerned-out and sepia-toned-up that it looks like an actual million-dollar saloon. All they're missing are some boobs. Maybe they'll hire the former Coyote Ugly skankstaff to serve sarsaparilla at the bar.
When you go, try the fried green tomato lollipops, and don't forget to go potty—there are communal sinks in the restroom where boys and girls wash their hands together. Scan. Dalous.