My son Kevin has lived in Fargo, ND, almost ten years which coincides with the number of years I’ve been visiting the locale. In that time, I’ve always been struck with the abundance of great places to eat. You wouldn’t think a small town on the edge of the Great Plains would provide so must grist for one’s taste buds. But it does.

This trip Earl and I are spending about forty-eight hours before we head up the road to go catfishing. But that blog is to come. This blog acknowledged the five restaurants we ate in during the Fargo part of our trip. And, no, we didn’t cook at home once.

Last night, we ate at The Bison Turf, which is a dive bar just across the street from North Dakota State University and two blocks from my son’s house. It’s typical bar food, but you can hear the laughter of thousands of NDSU students embedded in the walls and booths. More than one couple has carved its initials in the wooden booths. I asked Earl if he wanted to carve our initials, but he declined.

Today we ate pizza at Rhombus Guys, had Guinness and free hotdogs at Dempsey’s (One of us had a free hotdog; being vegetarians two demurred; and I took a bite), and then went to a white tablecloth restaurant to celebrate my birthday with a wonderful meal at Sarello’s. (NOTE: I’ve written about Sarello’s before.) We met two other people who were also celebrating their birthdays the same night. It’s a great place, and I’ve spent more than one birthday at there.

Tomorrow morning, before Earl and I leave to go catfishing, we plan to eat at Mom’s for breakfast. My son says Fargo is not a breakfast town in the same way as the Twin Cities or Chicago is. He decries that there are maybe two restaurants at most that offer great egg fare. Or offer it all day. Since breakfast is Earl’s favorite meal, we’ll do a taste test ourselves. And regardless of the verdict on Mom’s, we’ve eaten ourselves through quite a bit of what Fargo has to offer. And I haven’t taken a single Tums®.

Today’s off-road experience was tracking down buffalo. (Just a note: The real name of this North American animal is bison.)

We were driving along I-94 about sixty-five miles south of our destination in Fargo, ND, when Earl spotted a herd of bison casually eating the grass on the east side of the highway. Immediately after that we saw a sign that read “Buffalo for Sale.”

Now we are bison aficionados, having made more than one trip to a bison ranch in Indiana, having eaten it and slept under its hide (very warm), and currently planning a trek to Yellowstone National Park to commune with them. Additionally, the skull of a female bison hangs in Earl’s office. It is a thing of beauty.

So we headed for the next exit in search of the advertised buffalo. We can’t afford to buy one; our condo docs forbid anything over the weight of an average dog. But we could at least pay our respects.

Which we did. Although there were no directional signs, luck provided us with the right road. And when we came to the end of it, the bison were there. Being courteous intruders, we found someone to ask if we could walk to the fence and see them close up. Permission was granted.

I’m not sure if it was my paisley sweater or just the fact that we were unfamiliar faces, but the bison began to close ranks and move away from the fence. We hastened our gait, but they hastened theirs too. A new mother with her offspring went cantering over the hill and out of sight. The others moved a distance away.

Regardless, we got to see them relatively up close and personal, which is all you want to do. Bison are not pettable or predictable. They are not at all interested in human friendship. Rather, they are majestic beasts that played a significant role not only in the development of our country as it is today but also in the development of what it was before Western European explorers showed up. And . . . they’ve inspired more than one song.

When we take road trips, Earl and I have difficulty going from Point A (for instance, our home) to Point B (our destination) without wandering off the highway. I don’t mean we’re a traffic accident waiting to happen; I mean if we see something that piques our interest, we leave the Interstate and go off to see it. Today was no exception.

Cruising through Wisconsin, we spied a billboard near Edgerton that advertised “The World’s Largest Culver’s.” We looked at each other, and suddenly Earl got a craving for the frozen custard the fast food chain is famous for.

Since Culver’s — like most fast food restaurants –has a similar floor plan regardless of whether you’re ordering in Biloxi, Mississippi, or Brisbane, Australia, we wondered how big this one was. The Culver’s back home isn’t that overwhelming.

We knew what we had to do. When the correct exit came up, we signaled our intentions and left the highway. Less than half a mile down the road was the Culver’s in question. It looked large, but not humongous. What did look humongous was the parking lot; and almost every space was taken! That WAS impressive.

We got into the drive-through lane and debated what to order. An invisible voice said, “Welcome to the World’s largest Culver’s.” We looked at each other. There’s something to be said for local pride.

In the end, we got the world’s smallest cup of frozen custard to share.