Stories from the Road: Best Indian Food on the Highway
Indian dishes that rival gourmet restaurants can be found at a humble truck stop in rural Nebraska
The last thing a man expects to find when in the middle of BFE Nebraska is some of the best Indian food in the nation. But that’s just what a man will be treated to if he makes a stop in tiny Overton, NE. The Indian food I’ve had in New York was not as good as the dishes at this humble abode in the middle of America, scoffingly referred to as “flyover country” in certain circles. (Proving the ignorance of our self-appointed social betters.)
In fact, when I ran teams earlier this year, each time we traveled I-80 coast to coast this place became a “must stop” along the way.
Truly, Jay Brothers Truck Stop on Exit 248 is one of those “diamonds in the rough” we truck drivers discuss. It doesn’t look like much on the outside. And it’s seen better days on the inside. But here’s the way I look at things: There’s a lot of richness in the poor house and a lot of poverty in the rich house. I’d rather be amongst real people rather than poseurs and social climbing jackasses. Typical Americans look for the fancy, material things in life (many wouldn’t be caught dead here) but I’ve learned to start looking for humanity and people. It’s very rewarding.
It’s experiences like these that make me glad I bailed on the failing news media when I did, and decided to drive a truck when I need money. (While living abroad as an expat the rest of the time.) There is so much to know about this country, and so much to know about the world beyond the myopia most people spend their entire lives in. A myopia that is at least, in part, foisted upon them by a media that only knows how to create fear and division and push conspicuous consumption as the be all, end all of human existence.
As for me, finding oases of real people and real food made by real hands and having random, once in a lifetime experiences in new places and with new people will never be matched by anything I could own. What’s more, I enjoy interacting and supporting small business owners rather than faceless, nameless, exploitative GloboWorldCorp and its subsidiaries.
A gentlemanly Indian grandfather usually brings my order out when I stop here. Just seeing the humble man at work and watching him waiting to see if I like his cooking is an experience the chain truck stops can’t match. I like people, not things. Why is this so hard for Anglo culture to understand?
This is why I roam. This is why I’m a minimalist. This is why I cannot bear the human farm corporate America herds all the sheeple into. I’d never have had this simple pleasure among a constellation of other simple pleasures like this if I had stayed on the plantation waiting for the “someday” of retirement that never comes. (And by then I’d be too old and worn out to enjoy it, anyway.)
Life is better out here as a free man. Let me tell you.
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In any case, I hop out of the truck and naturally pay attention to what’s going on, as social observing is part and parcel of what I do here as a service for men.
This scene repeats itself again and again across America. Women, of all races, disposing of men after the mating act and enslavement process is completed. I couldn’t help but think what blinders, and suicidal ones at that, Anglo culture has towards women who do this day in and day out with impunity. Any criticism of them is forbidden. Any mercy towards biological dad is shamed and mocked. Every incident is met with a “YouGoGrrl” and “Men are scum” response from a thoroughly misandrist culture.
Putting that background aside, about how frankly, shitty American woman are, prancing around as if they’re god almighty, any sex appeal they might have had concealed under layers of blubber, hair dye, and bitchiness, let’s move to a recent experience I had at one of the Zonas de Tolerancia in Mexico. These are areas of legal prostitution in many Mexican cities, representing the polar opposite of the shame sex creates in Anglo America.
We negotiate a price, she asks for $40 for complete service. We go in her room, she closes the door, and we start talking. After bullshitting for a few minutes, I find out she’s 21 and lives nearby. She gives me the look that she’s ready, so I take off my clothes and she takes off hers. The light bulb in her room was out, but since it was daytime there were still some rays of light peeking into the room. Once my eyes adjusted I gazed upon a chick that looked stunning naked. Especially compared to the fatties I see in my trips around America, and what they must look like with their clothes off.
But, it’s a tricky situation. First off, this chick still lives with her parents. Second, she has a great body butterface knocks her down to about a SMV 6½ or so. Third, I know from talking to her she’s been around the block a couple of times. Fourth, I’m spoiled with frankly superior women abroad. American chicks just don’t do it for me anymore. I know they’re an inferior product that typically comes at a very high price. They’re aggravating, unfeminine, and awkward compared to the primo cuts I enjoy abroad. (They’re also usually fat, but this chick isn’t fat.)
As I mentioned before, I’ve literally been eating on a budget like this for years. I’ve lost weight by planning meals. I’ve cut down on waste and aggravation by streamlining and simplifying. I’ve saved tons of cash. And I’ve adapted this plan to hyper-save while I’m in the throes of The Matrix, driving 3,000 miles a week earning that precious freedom money to power my mini-adventures here in the USA and my major adventures abroad.
Bottled water and Walmart store brand sodas are my daily beverages, along with instant Kool-Aid and iced tea packets to keep things interesting. It’s Walmart brand Pop Tarts for breakfast. Celery sticks, carrots, cherry tomatoes and a big tub of ranch dressing for snacktime.