I've lived in North Texas for 7 1/2 years, but I've never found mole that could rival the savory sauce I became addicted to in Lexington, Ky., at a Mexican restaurant a few blocks from my house. It was called Rincon, right near the University of Kentucky campus; if you're ever in town, tell 'em Rick sent you.
But last night that changed, when my wife mentioned that her co-worker and carpool buddy had celebrated his birthday at El Asadero on North Main in Fort Worth. He said the mole was the best he'd ever tasted, and Billy Bob grew up in these parts, so he should know.
We packed the fam into the car and went on a mole mission. And we weren't disappointed. El Asadero's mole is awesome -- so sweet and spicy that I sopped up every last drop with chips (and then a finger or two). At only $7.99, the enchiladas mole put to shame the mole at Cantina Laredo downtown, which was solid but too pricey ($12.99) for lunch.
In general, I've been disappointed by my mole choices around here -- Mi Cocina's is weak and Benito's, while traditional, just doesn't have enough sweetness or spice. So I'm declaring El Asadero's the best mole in all the land, but I know there are mole devotees out there who can prove me wrong.
Please do, because I'm worried that I'll start eating at El Asadero 2-3 times a week.
Finally, I always love it when I discover a great place that I've passed hundreds of times and that has been in business in for 25 years. Great detective work, huh?
Lest you think our random Cowboys crusader is extreme, consider the case of the Mesa State College lineman who had his shredded pinkie lopped off rather than miss the last few games of his football Division II career.
Kinda makes Romo look like a wuss ... or a sane person. I can't decide.
President Bush has this uncanny knack for getting caught in awkwardly affectionate poses with foreign leaders.
He can turn nearly any photo op into a photo oops. It's one of the few truly endearing qualities about the man.
And it does provide some awesome caption contest material. Check out W. here, giving some forehead to the Italian prime minister.
Can't tell if they're two of the most powerful men in the world or teenagers on a first date. Don't let us have all the fun. Add your comments below.
Randy Galloway, the dean of DFW sports radio, likes to call North Texas "The Chicken Fried Nation." I love that term, in all its thick, white-gravied glory.
The only thing we need now is a theme song.
How 'bout Chicken Fried, and undeniably hooky anthem from a Georgia group called The Zac Brown Band. They're not singing specifically about Texas, but why split horse hairs. Listen to the song and watch the video (Brown looks like a less-menacing version of Jack Black), and I bet you won't be able to stop bopping to it in your head.
They're like the male version of The Dixie Chicks -- country with rock 'n' soul and edge.
Chicken Fried is the first single off ZBB's upcoming CD, The Foundation, and its racing up the Billboard country charts. The video debuts Monday on CMT. But you can watch it right 'chere.
Speaking of the Chicks, I miss 'em. Was sad to hear that they're deal to have a song in the movie The Lucky Ones fell through, but smiled when I read that Natalie Maines sang at Howard Stern's wedding. Woulda like to have been a fly on the wall at that reception, which included a performance by Billy Joel and gifts from the likes of Donald Trump and Joan Rivers. Oy.
Good news is that the Chicks are working on a new album. But in the meantime, I'll just have to jam to Chicken Fried.
You might be tempted to watch the Dallas Cowboys play the Rams on Sunday at noon, just to see if Tony Romo keeps his pinky intact, but I've got a better option for ya:
It's a slam-dunk bowling event airing at the same time on ESPN. NBA stars Chris Paul, LeBron James, Dwayne Wade and former UT standout Kevin Durant will be teamed with pro bowlers for a tournament that's likely to be more entertaining than watching the 'Boys struggle to eek out a win over a dreadful St. Louis squad.
We've all heard the ol' axiom: Don't drink and dial.
Google is taking that a step further by looking out for your drunk a-- in the digital age with a new feature called Mail Goggles. It's like a little Gmail angel on your shoulder asking: Do you really want to proclaim your undying love for the boss' 17-year-old daughter? Or tell the world about your extra nipple?
Mail Goggles, which is only effective late at night and on weekends, kinda like me, requires you to answer five relatively easy math problems in 60 seconds before your Jerry Maguire manifesto is thrust onto the interwebs.
If you can't do the math, you can't do the e-mail. (Hey, you activated the program! Don't blame us!!)
Critics have already pointed out flaws. Mail Goggles is not available on Gmail for cell phones. And that's how most desperate and drunken messages are sent.