There's something way too special about the Mama's Daughters' original location on Irving Boulevard. It's the perfect diner: great atmosphere, happy-snarky waitresses and an unspoken promise that when you leave, you'll be stupid full of delicious food. (Bring your pie stomach. It's game time.) I have an unholy love for the original location, so when I found out they also have other locations—including one in Plano—I was skeptical. No way could the food be as good at some poseur Mama's Daughters location in Plano. Something about Plano would have to mess with the food, right? Like the kitchen would actually be clean or instead of wearing huge beehive wigs and giant earrings, the servers would wear Polos, or what if the Plano location had—horror of horrors—a valet?
As I drove up to the Plano location, I was happy to see that there was no valet, just a regular lot that happened to be packed. Inside, the vibe was good: busy, not pristine, tables with newspaper articles under the glass. So far so good.
I ordered the chicken-fried chicken special, which came with three sides. I chose macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes and green beans from a list that actually included salad. I love that some fat fuck is gonna order a salad with his mashed potatoes, mac and cheese and chicken-fried chicken with cream gravy. "And a Diet Coke."
All the locations offer salad, and I've always been kinda pissed about that. When you walk in the door at Mama's Daughters', you accept the extra two pounds you're adding to your butt because, dammit, their chicken-fried chicken is worth it. I'd like to see Mama's Daughters' become a staunch supporter of an anti-salad movement. If you order a salad at Mama's Daughters', one of these five things should happen to you: 1) You should be dragged out of the restaurant by your ear; 2) Grundle punch; 3) Pack of angry dogs ferociously lick you all over; 4) Forced to watch a Sarah Palin's Alaska marathon; 5) Stigmata.
The Mama's Daughters' Plano location had great food, but it just wasn't the original. Still, if you find yourself in P-town with a hankerin' for orgasmic pie, it'll do.