One benefit of living in New York City is that no one need feel displaced for long. Homes are established, friends made, favorite places found. For those in search of Texas in Manhattan, the Cowgirl Hall of Fame Bar-B-Q restaurant in Greenwich Village is a worthy haunt. Owner Sherry Delamarter has created an atmosphere that warmly welcomes tourist or transplant and is cleverly kitschy enough to attract the jaded native.
The Cowgirl Hall of Fame stands on the corner of Hudson and 10th streets, a rummage sale of a restaurant. Bales of hay and assorted horse tackle are stacked behind the windows, their artless appeal unmarred by other decoration. The window glass itself is plastered with vintage felt pennants, cheering on teams and places known and unknown. Weathered, whitewashed metal tables are dressed in plastic cowprint and set with stacks of plain paper napkins, bottles of hot sauce, and flatware crossed in an "X."
The denim-outfitted host, who is surely too amicable to be from New York, leads you down a small corridor to the main dining room, past the general store. The wall to your left exhibits nine varieties of T-shirts, with obligatory silk-screened cowgirl images. On the right is a glass display case and counter crammed with an overwhelming array of objects for sale: confections from the ordinary companions of childhood (atomic fireballs and root beer barrels) to the quirky (lollipops in the shape of the state of Texas, or tequila-flavored ones with a real worm imprisoned), cactus jelly and prickly pear marmalade, straw cowboy hats, pottery, plastic farm animals, and the Cowgirl's own leather postcards, branded to show your friends where you've been.
This October marks the 10th year the Cowgirl has been serving Southern-style favorites and white-trash staples. For New York City, where theme restaurants come and go like subway trains, that's a long time. But the Cowgirl is no run-of-the-mill theme restaurant. Its authenticity and connection to the National Cowgirl Hall of Fame (yes, there is one) promote it from that common rank.
The National Cowgirl Hall of Fame originated in the small Texas town of Hereford (named for the cattle) in the early 1970s. Founder Margaret Formby started her collection of cowgirl memorabilia -- and the inductions of women tough enough to make the cut -- in a church basement. Eventually, a local rancher donated a house for the Hall of Fame, but that didn't mean an easy ride. Hereford is in the panhandle of Texas, an hour away from Amarillo, the largest city in the area and still not exactly a tourist destination.
Delamarter first heard about the struggling museum in the mid-'80s. Born and raised in Texas, she had moved to New York City in 1979 and was established in the restaurant business. Delamarter was thinking about starting a restaurant with a Southern barbecue theme, and the National Cowgirl Hall of Fame struck her immediately as the perfect counterpart. She arranged to cater the next induction ceremony free of charge (Hall of Fame ceremonies up to this point had been potluck, and consisted primarily of crackers and processed cheese spread), and also mentioned to Formby some ideas about collaboration.
Delamarter's brainstorm was to call her new restaurant the Cowgirl Hall of Fame. Formby would provide her with information about a different cowgirl every few months to be featured in the restaurant, and Delamarter would contribute a portion of her profits to the Hall. The induction ceremony with Delamarter's food was a big success. Formby also arranged for Delamarter to meet with the Hall of Fame board members to present the restaurant idea; in two months, Delamarter had a licensing agreement.
For the grand opening of her New York restaurant, Delamarter invited a very special National Cowgirl Hall of Fame inductee: Patsy Montana, the first woman to sell one million records in country-western music with her song "I Want To Be A Cowboy's Sweetheart" (released in 1935). At the time of her first performance at the Cowgirl, Montana was already in her '70s, but she continued to appear and delight audiences with her distinctive yodeling at a sweethearts' dinner nearly every Valentine's Day until three years ago.
Montana's last performance at the restaurant was in February 1994; she died in May 1996. A permanent tribute to her is located at the back of the main dining room. The trophies and other artifacts were donated by her family, who came to the Cowgirl for a memorial service soon after her death.
The National Cowgirl Hall of Fame currently resides in boxes, save for the portraits hanging in the back dining room of the restaurant. When the Hall of Fame board could no longer scrape together the resources to stay open and was unable to get official museum status and state funding because of the dearth of tourists in Hereford, they began to look for a new home. Fort Worth won the honor, but was displeased to learn that Delamarter owned the name and merchandising rights.
The ensuing conflict was recently resolved out-of-court. Delamarter will retain use of the name for another 10 years. She opened a Cowgirl Hall of Fame restaurant in Santa Fe four years ago; plans to open another branch in Nashville were thwarted by the settlement.
Entering the New York dining room, you may notice first the light fixtures: crowns of antlers adorned with many-hued bulbs above, and on the walls, sconces of illuminated cowgirl rodeo scenes. Or, your eyes may shoot directly to the vintage cap gun collection displayed in three large glass cases on the wall ahead. Another wall holds up a medley of aged metal signs advertising for the Clarence Johnson tallow company of Cow Creek, West Virginia, "We Pay for Dead Stock," and for the Lay or Bust poultry seed concern. Tables are thriftily covered with picnic-style checkered plastic, the chairs upholstered in faux cowhide, the tables stocked with mandatory hot sauce and napkins. Add Johnny Cash coming through the speakers, and you've entered another dimension of time and space.
The list of Rootin' Tootin' Western Cocktails is a good place to start. My dining companion and I opt for the religious instruction of a Bible Belt, the Cowgirl's version of Lynchburg Lemonade -- Jack Daniels, triple sec, and lime and lemon juices served in a glass with a sugared rim. Our drinks arrive with tiny plastic cowboys on horses set astride the glass rims, barbed-wire stirrers (plastic, of course), and complimentary corn tortilla chips and "Texas caviar," a tasty salsa consisting primarily of black-eyed peas.
We settle on the Black-and-White Nachos for an appetizer, passing up Eggplant Fritters, Corn Dogs and Catfish Fingers. Regrettably, we also save for next visit the Frito Pie, based on a traditional Texas snack served at football games and state fairs -- a bag of Fritos cut open at the top and filled with chili. The Cowgirl serves it on a plate (but still in the bag) and adds cheddar cheese, onions, sour cream, and jalapenos. The nachos, however, are the best I've had in New York City, a generous heap of warm, toasted tortilla chips topped with black beans, tomato salsa, melted Monterey Jack cheese and jalapenos.
With the Bible Belt for inspiration, I choose my dinner wisely -- Chicken-Fried Chicken, the Cowgirl's number-one seller. My companion orders Whiskey Pork Chops, a house specialty marinated in Jack Daniels. Both are served with home-made mashed potatoes and cream gravy and a choice of vegetable -- collard greens for me, broccoli across the table. The chicken is two pieces of boneless breast, battered and fried, and smothered in gravy. The gravy is a bit congealed upon arrival, but that doesn't interfere with the taste; the chicken coating is still crispy and hot, the meat tender, the potatoes heavenly in a cholesterol-laden way (bits of pork fat visible in each bite), and the collard greens as good as any Northeastern girl imagines.
The pork chops are not as satisfying -- a little tough and fatty -- and the marinade lacks a strong flavor. For dessert, we split a piece of strawberry-rhubarb pie. The filling is nice, but unremarkable, and the crust limp and bland. On my way to the little cowgirls' room, I check out the several display cases of barbed wire (never before realizing there was more than one type).
In addition to irregularly scheduled specials, the Cowgirl offers a Wednesday night "All-U-Can Eat Fried Chicken and Catfish Fry," featuring chicken and catfish plus mashed potatoes, coleslaw, bread, tossed salad, and pickles and onions. The Cowgirl can accommodate noontime needs with its Little Lunch on the Prairie, which could be a cheese or chicken enchilada, or chicken-fried steak or chicken, along with a cup of soup or side salad. On a recent return visit, I was impressed with the Stay Trim Veggie Club, a delicious melding of grilled eggplant, green chilies, onions, tomatoes, lettuce and cheddar cheese on toast with honey-mustard sauce, served with crisp shoestring fries (which pretty much negates the "stay trim" idea) and a scoop of very tasty cole slaw.
Prices are reasonable as well; dinner for two, with appetizers, will cost you about $50 (a bargain in NYC), and the all-you-can-eat meal is a steal at $10.95 per person.
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