Every couple of weeks, I have an appointment with a cardiologist at the Oklahoma Heart Hospital, down in Midwest City. When I’m there, I’m usually trying to pass every blood test they give me—they say it’s not a competition, but I’m pretty sure I see Santa Muerte standing over the doc’s shoulder, winking—that by the time every needle in the place has punctured my skin, I’m hungry for something to, at the very least, reenergize my mostly broken spirit.
Located in front of the Heart Hospital is a Phillips 66 gas station, one that I have never really noticed before; desperately needing to grab a hot cup of coffee, I happened to came across yet another Oklahoma gas station that, remarkably, is a hub of homemade eats, serving up the food your Okie grandmother would probably have filled your plate with, eventually earning yourself a trip, ironically enough, to the Oklahoma Heart Hospital.
The filling station of edible note is Jimmy’s Paris Plaza 66, 7801 S. Sooner Road, and out there, where much of the world seems to end, it might as well be the best four-star restaurant in town for the Joe Lunchboxes of the area—around noon, about half the working-class area must show up there, with every color of uniform from army fatigues to road-worker orange representing at high noon.
Well, all of them and one dude with a trach in his neck and a need for a hefty cup of coffee.