After traveling from far away lands punished by thousands buffalo grazing amongst antelope we landed on our destination. Tim a BearCat disguised as a bartender showed us our way to our table, the one watched over by the spirit of the elk. Glancing around to see a set of Longhorns probably off of a 77 Texas Cadillac Eldorado, and ice cold coors light girl giving me the eye telling me, "Come on, I know what you want." She was right and her Colorado Rocky Mountain spring water help washed down a slab of steak that must have been cut from the majestic fields of Ennis, MT fed by organic untouched soils because it was like taking an 8 second ride on the bull Blueberry Wine to win the national championship at the PBR. Following dinner Tim mentioned that his grandmothers cheesecake recipe has been used in the establishment since 1962. (All facts are driven by what one believes). Of course we had to try some, there is no mistaking it, it was better than the sampler plate at the Tempe, AZ Cheesecake Factory. As we finish the dining experience at the Cowboy Express Steakhouse we sip on digestif cocktails designed by Tim BearCat himself and talk about the extravagant tales of Louis L'Amour.
When I go into Twirl I feel the refresh of a loyal loving family, like the type of family that when you go back home to your family and say "Hey, I see that you have been eating garbage for the last 50 years, how about eating or drinking this to look out for your well being." The people who work there are as sweet as a home grown tangerine and as knowledgeable on the product as a doctorate level grad student is on what its like to have a goal. The organic yogurt is as plush as Tiger was when he won the Grand Slam in 2001 and as clutch as Jordan hitting the game winner over Russell against the Jazz in the NBA finals in 98.
When I leave after eating their yogurt I feel as if I just had a fresh powder run starting at the peak of Everest, and read every book of the Game of Thrones series at base camp. Its like driving a Lamborghini that you actually own and can afford to pay the taxes on to a Dallas Cowboys Super Bowl victory while sitting in box seat sipping an ice cold Miller Light with Jerry Jones talking about "Where are the haters now?" After I get home I feel like an Olympic ice skating duo that just destroyed the song "Careless Whisper" by George Michael, and realize that "I am going to dance again," as long as I can dance with Twirl.