2008 Woodie Awards
Greasy meats and frozen treats at Tom's Drive-In
Jamie Gajewski
Issue date: 5/30/08 Section: Features
Everyone's least favorite part of a carnival is feeling like you are going to throw up after stepping off of the Tilt-A-Whirl. This is exactly how I felt after consuming a Perchwich and a 99-cent rootbeer float at Tom's Drive-In located near Woodman's off of College Avenue.
I may have felt like this because the food was extremely greasy, or possibly because Paul Jackson and I chose to eat our food in what appeared to be an actual Tilt-A-Whirl pod, or possibly part of a spaceship.
Truthfully, I am somewhat of a rookie when it comes to eating fast food. I usually steer clear of brightly colored heart attack centers because the only meat I eat is fish and I have freakishly high levels of cholesterol and triglycerides.
Therefore, it was essential to bring along Paul Jackson, an expert on all things wrapped in foil. Paul has sampled fast food in all 50 states, as well as on five other continents.
Paul suavely ordered a Tom's Special, which is some sort of dead cow patty with cheap vegetables and fatty sauces. Paul chose to hold the tomatoes.
According to the drive-in's Web site, Tom's is "famous for good food." While the Perchwich was more than twice the cost of a Filet-O-Fish, I think that the poorly titled sandwich made me feel about six times as sick to my stomach as the fishy McDonald's entree.
I blame the ambiance. Not only does one feel like he or she has been thrust into the middle of a space-age carnival, but the overly stimulating neon lights and murals of fire breathers bring back painful memories of terrifying clowns popping balloons in my face and me getting lost amongst gaggles of strung-out carnies and pimpled teenagers.
While the actual meal was mediocre, the root beer float was more satisfying than winning a gigantic stuffed Pegasus in a Skeeball competition.
For only 99 cents, a generous helping of creamy vanilla ice cream floated in a sea of frothy root beer. The ice cream reached all the way to the top of a clear plastic lid. I found it to be quite impressive, and that was just the small size.
I may have felt like this because the food was extremely greasy, or possibly because Paul Jackson and I chose to eat our food in what appeared to be an actual Tilt-A-Whirl pod, or possibly part of a spaceship.
Truthfully, I am somewhat of a rookie when it comes to eating fast food. I usually steer clear of brightly colored heart attack centers because the only meat I eat is fish and I have freakishly high levels of cholesterol and triglycerides.
Therefore, it was essential to bring along Paul Jackson, an expert on all things wrapped in foil. Paul has sampled fast food in all 50 states, as well as on five other continents.
Paul suavely ordered a Tom's Special, which is some sort of dead cow patty with cheap vegetables and fatty sauces. Paul chose to hold the tomatoes.
According to the drive-in's Web site, Tom's is "famous for good food." While the Perchwich was more than twice the cost of a Filet-O-Fish, I think that the poorly titled sandwich made me feel about six times as sick to my stomach as the fishy McDonald's entree.
I blame the ambiance. Not only does one feel like he or she has been thrust into the middle of a space-age carnival, but the overly stimulating neon lights and murals of fire breathers bring back painful memories of terrifying clowns popping balloons in my face and me getting lost amongst gaggles of strung-out carnies and pimpled teenagers.
While the actual meal was mediocre, the root beer float was more satisfying than winning a gigantic stuffed Pegasus in a Skeeball competition.
For only 99 cents, a generous helping of creamy vanilla ice cream floated in a sea of frothy root beer. The ice cream reached all the way to the top of a clear plastic lid. I found it to be quite impressive, and that was just the small size.
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