Bender: A Story of a Bachelorette Weekend | The Grand Finale

Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY! Time to go to see my folks. After all the barf-inducing behavior, it was time for some good ‘ole fashioned Bauer family fun. But there was one thing missing. One very critical thing that I absolutely must have before I leave KC. If you haven’t guessed it, you’re stupid. Because it’s BBQ. KC BBQ, bitches!

I told my parents that Sam and I would pick up lunch. And I knew where I was going: Oklahoma Joe’s. It’s part gas station, part liquor store and part “the best BBQ in the world” restaurant. The hick’s hedonistic trifecta, if you will. But alas, my father told me that Oklahoma Joe’s is closed on Sundays. I cried on the inside (weeped is extreme, but it might have gotten to that point…not telling), but would not be deterred from having some KC BBQ. So, Sam and I headed to Southwest Blvd., readied our Spanish skills and hit up Quick’s. It, too, was closed. Dammit! So, our third stop was Rosedale BBQ, and as luck would have it, it was OPEN. Queue the heavenly “ahhhhh” music.

Sam and I hopped out of the car in delight and bum-rushed the glass door to get inside. Girls from Johnson County, KS can bum-rush too, you know. Haters. And frankly, we were hungry because neither of us had eaten good BBQ in years. We walked in and you could tell the manager knew we were in it to win it because she immediately asked us if we had been in before and what she could help us with. I said to her that we both hadn’t had BBQ in years and were grabbing food for my folks, my younger brother and niece, so we needed advice on what to get to adequately feed everyone. “Adequately” being relative.

She started rattling off suggestions, and before I knew it, we were saying yes to everything. It was like going to the grocery store hungry (yes, I absolutely need these frozen taquitos with fake chicken. And oooh, hot pocket-stuffed hot pockets are on sale!). I’m not what you’d call a “yes” person, but all be damned if smoked meat doesn’t make me agree to anything and everything. We ordered two pounds of burnt ends, a pound of pulled pork, a half-pound of beef strips, a full slab of ribs, bread, a quart of heart-stopping twice-baked potato salad, cucumber salad (needed something semi-healthy), beans and coleslaw. Oh, and an order of fried mushrooms for good measure – I chalked it up to my dad mentioning it, but really, it was for me. Enough food to feed a small army…and give it heartburn and/or the runs.

The manager was awesome, though, and didn’t bat an eye. She immediately had one of the cooks bring out a box that warranted its own zip code and started loading. There were several men at the bar looking at us two girls like we must be pregnant or something. Each time the manager added more to the box, their eyes get wider. I gave them the “This isn’t all for us” line, but I’m pretty sure they thought we were simply competitors in an eating contest. And I really didn’t care. It took about 20 minutes to get everything together, then it was time for the bill. When it was all said and done, with tip, we dropped around $100. I consider it an investment in being a better person. Self actualization, if you will.

That there is a box full of $100 worth of KC BBQ, aka a vegetarian's nightmare. The horror!

We got to my parents’ house and my dad took one look at the box and uttered, “Jesus Christ.” Not that it’s out of the ordinary for my dad to say that, but he was my inspiration for my implacable food desires, so him saying that told me, “Holy ballsack, the Bauers might actually get full today.” My brother Brent looked at it like he would one of his female conquests and said, “Hell yes!” Another one of my dad’s legacies, but then again, he grew up in the 60s (Brent, what’s YOUR excuse, prostidude?). Put that on the resume.

I grabbed the box, waddled in the house (so THIS is what it’s like to walk when pregnant with a 20-pound baby!) and we started digging in. It was a smorgasbord of goodness. 

2 lbs of burnt ends. Yes.

1/2 lb of delicious sliced brisket. Oh yes.

1 full slab of ribs, 1 lb of shredded pork, twice baked potato salad, cucumber salad, beans and cole slaw. Yes, yes, yes!

Pretty sure I ate my weight in meat. Vegetarians and PETA might have stoned me in the front yard if they had the chance...good thing is, my stomach was so full of meat that it was like a trampoline. Throw that stone…if you’re okay with it bouncing off my stomach and killing an errant chipmunk.

Then my niece pointed to my dad’s computer and said, “Hey Mickey!” Apparently Brent introduced her to the song and she’s obsessed. We turned it on, started dancing, and I soon realized that eating BBQ and dancing immediately after does not mix. But kids don’t know that, so I shook my butt and moved my arms, but definitely didn’t whip out any of the dancing in the arsenal of what I like to call “Francie’s Sweet Moves.” Many of you may have seen them and were wowed (negative impressions count).

We sat, talked and soon it was time for Sam and me to leave. We actually left my parents’ place a little early because God forbid we didn’t have Foo’s Frozen Yogurt before I left. I chugged a little Diet Coke, belched to all high heavens, and made some extra room in the tum-tum. After Foo’s, Sam and her folks dropped me off at the airport and I was off to Denver. On the plane, I told myself I needed to go on a diet. At least a meatless diet. I knew I was lying to myself, but it made me feel better for a little while.

Don picked me up, and believe it or not, I was hungry again. And I hadn’t even “made room” if you know what I mean. Which, sidenote, reminds me of a story of a guy I used to work with who loved Indian Buffet so much, he’d actually do a road game in the nasty bathroom to allow for full-on gorging. Sick and awesome.

So where else to take a fine lady like myself than Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar & Grill. Don suggested it, just because we’d seen it being built and I had called it Toby McGuire’s Bar (he still makes fun of me, but hell, I don’t know country music, dude!), and I said, why not? I mean, might as well go out with a bang. And I did. In the form of a 12 oz. NY strip – medium rare, of course – and a massive baked potato.

We were THISCLOSE to getting the fried Twinkies, but we both opted to wait for the Colorado State Fair to sample it in a true carnival atmosphere. Carnies scare the crap out of me, but the food makes up for it.

So, that was the end of my epic weekend. Lots of food, lots of drinking, and LOTS of decisions, both good and bad (but more bad than good – just the way I like it). Can’t wait until next time…and neither can my liver and colon.