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| This shirt should exist. |
We did it today, folks. Matt and I officially became Springfieldians. You might be wondering how we accomplished this life milestone. Did we take a citizenship test? No. Did we argue our case before the mayor? Nope. Did we get a library card? No. Well, at least not yet. Did we watch a marathon of The Simpsons? We're working on it.
No, friends, we did none of those things. We did something even greater.
We ate a horse shoe. (And not the equine version, by the way. This one is edible. And tasty.)
A reasonable person may well be wondering right now what a horse shoe is. A person who knows what a horse shoe is knows that it is not at all reasonable. It is, as our bubbly waitress put it, "a heart attack on a plate." Matt referred to it as "America on a plate" (or 'Murica, if you say it with enough gusto.)
After hearing for some time from folks around town that I must be initiated into the community by way of consuming this magical dish called a "horse shoe," I resolved that I would do it and share my story with all of you. You see, the horse shoe is a uniquely Springfield dish. It's the pride of Springfield, the glue (and grease) that holds the town together.
So here it is, folks, the horse shoe: Your choice of meat perched atop Texas toast (disregard the Texas...I'm going to call it Illinois toast), then topped with fries and a hearty dose of homemade cheese sauce. Sound good? Oh, it is. It's a native Springfield thing, and since I am now a resident of Springfield I felt that it was my duty to try one. And try I did.
We set out on foot to a neighborhood restaurant, Lake Pointe Grill, when our stomachs growled and our curiosity for horse shoes could be contained no longer. It turns out that walking was the best choice we made today, since after eating a horse shoe a good post-meal waddle does the body some good.
After chatting with our waitress about the crucible we were about to embark upon, we placed our orders: Matt tried the buffalo chicken horse shoe and I went with a good old hamburger one.
When the dish arrived, I was floored: it indeed looked like a heart attack on a plate, but it looked AMAZING. And as I sat there taking it all in, a flurry of catch phrases went through my head: Carpe diem! Just do it! YOLO! #iregretnothing.
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| My amazingly delicious hamburger horse shoe. |
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| My hamburger horse shoe only 5 minutes after beginning to eat. I was STUFFED. |
Every bite was as delicious as it looked: gooey cheese meeting the hot, crunchy fries, rounded out by savory hamburger and toast. Matt's buffalo chicken horse shoe was the big star; it was spicy enough to be very interesting and tasty, but not obnoxiously so. He loved it, and he did much better on his horse shoe than I did on mine. After about five minutes of gorging, I was stuffed, and I couldn't persuade myself to shovel another delicious bite into my mouth. Thank God for take-home boxes. Fourth meal is going to be AWESOME tonight.
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| Matt enjoying his buffalo chicken horse shoe. |
I have to hand it to you, Springfield; the horse shoe is delicious. Eating it is a feat of strength, a victory of the will, as finishing one would truly be a mind of matter sort of effort. Side effects of eating a horse shoe may include feelings of shame, labored breathing, and cold sweats. I don't know who came up with the idea for the horse shoe, but whoever it was, they were a true patriot. I mean, it's essentially a deconstructed, amped up cheeseburger. It's gluttony at its best. Assuming it's not a stroke, that funny feeling you'll get when you dig into a horse shoe is the light, bubbly, warm feeling of being intensely American. There's nothing more American than a horse shoe.
Except for naps, which I did after I got home from Lake Pointe Grill.
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| Nap time. |
I hope that you'll all, at some point in your life, get to try a horse shoe. It's a taste of Americana, a taste of Illinois, and a taste of Springfield, my new hometown.
Besides, the diet can start tomorrow.
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