Chow, Baby isn’t sure which is more surprising: that there’s such a thing as a horse masseuse, or that Chow, Baby has lived in Fort Worth for all these years and is only now finding out that there’s such a thing as a horse masseuse. Hands-on-sweaty-horse action was all the rage one recent evening at the Will Rogers Equestrian Center, where Chow, Baby was hanging out because – another thing it was surprised it didn’t already know – its sister-in-law from Michigan is some kind of world champion in the American Paint Horse, uh, arena. Or technically it’s her horse that’s the champ. Chow, Baby doesn’t know exactly how all this horsey stuff works, but bets it will learn some day.
Eventually, though, Chow, Baby’s own area of expertise was called upon: Where can an equestrienne who’s hungry enough to eat a horse get a good burger near Will Rogers at 9 p.m. on a weeknight? That would be Fred’s (915 Currie St.), which Chow, Baby still thinks of as a glorious dive staffed by scraggly, snarky-wise menfolk, so young stud Nick’s smiling, attentive service on the pleasant, clean-smelling patio was kind of a jolt. One thing that hasn’t changed: The Fredburger (with cheese and cheese fries, $11.50) is still the greatest burger in town – half a pound of grilled juicy meat, the right balance of fresh toppings, plus cheese-gooey hand-cut fries. Positively first place. Of course that’s just Chow, Baby’s opinion, but it’s pretty well set in it.
Being wholly content with its Fred’s allegiance, Chow, Baby had no intention of doing yet another lame burger compare/contrast column, but things accidentally worked out that way. Later in the week, Chow, Baby and the beloved were engaged in a competition of our own: Who can find the silliest and most absurdly overpriced lump of non-natural material at the Container Store? The beloved won (Microwave Hotclip, a little rubber thingie that protects your fingers as you take plates out of the microwave, $4.99), and of course the prize was lunch – but we were on Hulen Street.
Good lord, what a culinary wasteland. Seeking anything non-chain, we cruised up and down Hulen for more than an hour, getting hungrier and crankier, to the point that – and this is the measure of a really good intimate relationship, that you feel you can safely expose your darkest moral flaws – Chow, Baby said, “Let’s just go to Cotton Patch and not ever tell anybody.” As it happened, the U-turn brought us in view of Kincaid’s (4825 Overton Ridge Blvd.). To Chow, Baby, eating at Kincaid’s would be like attending A&M instead of UT or watching a Yankees game instead of the Mets, but we were pretty seriously desperate.
Wow. What an indisputably great burger ($5.70 with cheese). Chow, Baby credits the following descriptives, posted on the wall amid whimsical signage, for the amazing texture and flavor: USDA Choice, all natural, never frozen, ground fresh daily, hand-formed, cooked to order. (“Black Angus” is also posted, but the other elements actually matter.) Chow, Baby isn’t charmed by the relentless Go Texas! theme or the grocery shelves that are even more senseless here than at the original location, but man, those crinkle-cut fries ($1.75) are blue-ribbon. As for the enduring Fred’s vs. Kincaid’s debate, Chow, Baby is doubling down on both of these thoroughbreds.
Contact Chow, Baby at firstname.lastname@example.org.