TGICFS.

CFS w/ mashed potatoes and cream gravy. © Ryan Schierling

According to The Rolling Stones, you can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.

I always want CFS and eggs over-easy, with a side of hash browns and toast. Always.

We arrived at the Blanco Bowling Club too late for breakfast, and too early to watch the locals do a little nine-pin bowling. But, the kitchen was churning out what looked and smelled like homemade small-town Americana by the plateful so we sat down, got ourselves some iced tea and took a look at the menu.

Call it a hunch, but I knew the chicken-fried steak was going to be good. It had to be. There are many paths to CFS enlightenment in the state of Texas and at least a few of those paths – according to those in the know – end in Blanco, at this well-seasoned bowling alley, cafe and community center that's been around since 1947.

I ordered the "large," which was two hand-breaded cuts of beef, with a side of mashed potatoes, a salad, and homemade bread.

The crust was crispy, with crunchy ridges that yielded nicely to the fork and revealed a tender, cooked-medium cube steak that immediately made me forget all about the over-easy eggs and hash browns I tend to prefer with CFS. Some joints drown their steaks in gravy, hoping to hide flaws and imperfections, but the Blanco Bowling Club Cafe puts their chicken-fried glory on display with just enough cream gravy on the side to swipe forkfuls of beef through. The mashed potatoes were real, the salad was ubiquitous diner iceberg mix and the ranch dressing on the table in a clear squeezy bottle was exactly what I wanted to top it with.

I saved a piece of homemade bread to squeegee any remaining potatoes and gravy mixed with bits of CFS crust shrapnel, leaving my plate spotless for an easy arc straight from the bus bin to the dishwasher. Hey, I do what I can.

And in case you were wondering, Aaron, Chris, Corey and Ross, this one beats my former number one CFS in Wallace, Idaho.

We eat bowling shoes
at hands of lesser artists
A masterpiece, this