Ode to “Frobjects”

I decided to accompany the boys on their weekend road trip to Tulsa and Dallas. Now usually for a road trip I pack a bunch of healthy snacks and lots of water but in order truly experience the “life of a rock star”, I made the decision to travel like the natives. Troy and I rented a car and decided to leave a little early and meet up with the band in Tulsa so we loaded up with beef jerkey, M&Ms,breakfast taquitos and headed for the border.  The Captain, Rooney, Mr Ward and Johnny Catfish stayed behind to pack the van, which we felt a little guilty about, especially after it was discovered that a case of their equipment had been stolen, forcing them to stop at Funky Monkey and make an unexpected $400 dent in the already tight budget.

Troy and I went down HWY 69 headed toward Muskogee where we had seen a ton of flea markets on a past trip and wanted to check them out. We asked a local in one to the stores to direct us to good restaurant. He just laughed and told us an off colored joke about why Amish women were all fat…uuhhmmm ok, so we drove through McD’s and headed on our way. We met up with the boys at a Tulsa Taco Cabana. Ahhh Dos Equis and  Fried Apples Empananda – We were setting the scene for a greasy culinary delight weekend.

After a great show at Backyard bar in which I drank about 10 Coronas, TVH and I headed for our hotel for a late night snack of Jalapeno Chips and Junior Mints. The guys wanted to make a head start so they drove on further or at least they tried, seems they got lost and had to take a 45 min detour which landed them in Atoka. It was around 4am when we got a text from Johnny Catfish that coined the phrase “Frobjects” (Fried Objects). Apparently they were indulging in an abundance of “Frobjects” at the Indian Nation Truck Stop and there is now a backed up toliet there to prove it. (I know that’s crass but this is a band trip)

The next morning, was breakfast at Quick Trip and a 5 hour drive to Dallas. We stayed with the Captain’s friend Quan who was a real sweetheart. He had a gorgeous little oasis in the middle of Oak Cliff, complete with giant palm trees and a pool. He ever so graciously opened up his home to a bunch of dirty rockers and me.

Before the Dallas show we grabbed a bite at a local restaurant in Deep Elum called the Twisted Root Burger. Brothers and Sisters, This is where I met the mother of all Frobjects. I swear I walked in and heard an angelic chorus and brilliant white light that illuminated the sign:
frobject

Deep Fried Hotdogs! Only in Texas baby! Had I died and gone to heaven? My deep fried utopia came with a generous topping of guacamole, green chilies cheddar cheese and a side of fried sweet potato chips.

I bowed at the feet of the God of all frobjects and will forever be changed.

We went on the Double Wide so the boys could bring the rock, where thanks to a very kind bartender I had much more alcohol than I had planned to and then back to Quans. We tried to be good the next morning and hit a “healthy” Eatery whose name escapes me now but I was lured by the homemade chorizo, green peppers, onions, eggs and rosemary fried potatoes. Oi-Vey! Truck stops for lunch and dinner and we rolled back into KC around 10pm.

Two days later and I am only now starting to recover from my culinary sins but as I sit here eating my lowfat yogurt with blueberries, my heart thinks back to the crispy browned objects, the steady flow of napkins that sopped up the grease, and the smell of lard that lingered in the air and I find myself sighing wistfully……

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5 thoughts on “Ode to “Frobjects”

  1. I think my cholesterol levels just shot up and my heart stopped just reading that! Holy Cow girl! You are a brave woman for road tripping with that motley group and jumping into the spirit of things with both feet (or open mouth).

  2. You’re making me feel so lame for staying home and saving my moneys. Glad you had such a good time.

    Those injun truck stops are crazy. I once saw the world’s fattest mouse at the Burger King at the “Chickasaw Trading Post” (read truck stop) near Davis. Poor little waddling bastard…

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