So, look. What with having Fridays off throughout the summer I’ve tried to keep my freelance load fairly heavy. This is to keep me out of trouble, and also rolling in green, because it turns out? YOU CAN GET PAID FOR WRITING. I know, right?

So last year I conceived of this loopty idea wherein we traipse all over the state of Oklahoma seeing and trying things that we never had before. It has taken us to a great number of fabulous locales, and earlier this year I pitched it as an ongoing travel series to my wonderful editor over at that kablamo publication I get to write for for some reason. He’s let me sort of go nuts and run with it, so we’ve had a great opportunity to repeat the trip this year.

I took a small exception for this month’s article, which was that I’d been to the small mining town of Krebs before, but I’d never eaten at either of the Italian restaurants we went to, and I’d never tried their signature dish, Lamb Fries. The article is coming out next week, so I won’t give away too much, except to say that that photo above, there, is me, a Choc beer, a local Oklahoma brew:

in one hand, a lamb fry on a fork in the other. For the uninitiated, lamb fries are just lamb testicles, skinned, rolled in batter and fried, and when we got to our first stop on our Tour of Krebs, I decided I’d feel like a huge fraud writing this article without trying lamb fries. The regular plate was $12.99, and thank God my inherent cheapness kicked in and we ordered the kids’ plate, which had 5 testicles. I thought about counting them aloud like the Count on Sesame Street, but.

Now, look. There are a lot of really, really bawdy things I could say about having testicles in my mouth, but my family and coworkers, as well as some of my spiritual peers and heroes, read this website and so I’ll just go ahead and point out that this wasn’t the first time. You were thinking it. Let’s not pretend we’re classier than we are, internet. Feel free to chime in on the comments with more jokes or condemnation.

So I forked a fry, raised it to my mouth, and was prepared to go the distance when Brian, perfectly apropros, quoted one of my favorite Simpsons lines:

“Lisa, this is lamb. Not a lamb.”

He wins.

Oh, and we not only each tried fries, we finished the plate. Because I was getting paid for this article, dammit, and one can’t be picky when there’s a buck to be made.