Girl Drink Drunk: Frankie's Sports Bar & Grill

Frankie's Sports Bar & Grill is loud when the Stars are playing. Frankie's has a surprising balance of ladies and gents. Frankie's has Freedom Fries and a Freedom Dip sandwich on its menu.

The first two are kinda cool, but had I realized the latter before deciding on GDD location, I probably wouldn't have chosen Frankie's.

The Freedom shtick may just make for humorous menu options amongst many other silly names--Tatonka (Buf-buf-buffalo) chicken sandwich or Rocky Balboa Italian Sausage, for instance--as well as food and drink quotes from famous peeps. But it always rubs me the wrong way in a "these colors don't run" patriotic cock-of-the-walk fashion.

Like Cal Naughton, Jr., they don't realize the French wear red, white and blue, as well.

But alas, I met girl drinker Stephanie at the McKinney Avenue/Hall Street joint. The location had been determined based on the specialty drink menu, and we'd stuck to our guns...until they pried them from our...never mind.

After a brief chat with our fantastic waitress Shannon, she offered that, in her opinion, the danger of Frankie's' girl drinks is the inability to taste the alcohol in them. And I hear what she's saying. The full shots of alcohol are combined with so many other elements that those who order them feel like they're drinking juice...until the bar stool tips and you've inadvertently exposed your laundry day panties to the sports- and freedom-loving masses. Fruit camo in liquid form. Possibly a technique our armed forces should employ when questioning terrorists.

Undeterred and confident my underpants weren't going to show themselves any time soon (I was wearing actual pants, after all) I ordered the Tropicolada--a mix of pina colada, banana, mango and coconut rum blended to a frothy, creamy seductress wearing whipped cream and a cherry. It was, how-you-say, effing awesome. It tasted like a perfectly sinful smoothie, and Shannon was right, not a speck of alcohol could be tasted.

Just in case, I countered with combo nachos (the biggest half-order I've ever seen in my life) in order to guard against a secret alcohol attack.

Steph went with the Strawberries & Cream, which is made with actual ice cream--strawberries, rum and ice cream, that is. It was basically a rad strawberry shake that could foreseeably trick you into drunkeness on the evening's third try, but also provide you with ample ass padding if you made a habit of drinking three at a time. It really is too rich to re-up after the first one, so it's fairly safe despite its quiet intoxication.

Other variations of adult ice cream shakes include the Banana Jammer, Toasted Almond, Mudslide and Raspberry Passion.

Since neither of us had signed up for a calorie-burning boot camp, we had to leave those for future visits--especially since the raffle-working Dallas Stars Ice Girls in their skin-tight crop tops were putting me into a mode of self-loathing that would only be made worse by another alcoholic milkshake.

I will say that this is the first occasion on which I've been slightly embarrassed by my drink. In a room full of pint glasses, Stephanie and I were sporting soda fountain vessels and the aforementioned whipped cream and cherry. It sort of felt like being served a Roy Rogers or Shirley Temple when you were a kid and you just wanted a grown-up looking soda.

But whatever, they tasted like blended heaven. I'll just pack some Marx moustache glasses for next time.

Steph and I left after we realized we'd been yelling at each other over the din for so long, our throats were sore and more alco-shake wouldn't help. Freedom fare aside, I'd go back to Frankie's what for the awesome service, inoffensive sports crowd (very rare) and impressive drink and food menu (Shannon said to expect an even better menu in about a month).

And though we didn't take part, the bar offers some free stomach lining in the form of pizza from 5 to 10 p.m. on Tuesdays. Hey, Frankie's serves and protects, I guess.

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