Ode to Frankies

First off, this blog post is long overdue. Never did I imagine that I would wait so long to recount the delicious wonders of Indian street frankies, the delectable 32 rupee morsals bought at steaming Tibb's Frankie stand in Begumpet, Hyderabad near the Lifestyle Building... ah yes, these are the days. Frankies are not of the Ballpark. They are not squeezed from a tube, nor are they endorsed by Michael Jordan. A veritable Indian taquito, the Tibb's Frankie adds an egg, chicken tikka and onions in a sub-continental slam dunk to what I've otherwise found south of the border.

In California we have a place called In-and-Out, a place where a 4x4 is more than a truck, and more of a dream. It is a venue for which mere thought inspires salivation and longing, a place where cows and potatos meet their maker, or at least their eater, and a cleanly joint where a dreary day can turn, at times, even magical.

Tibb's Frankies is this, and so much more, because in its greatness are layered the surprise and wonder borne from the fact that such a tastey, joyous thing can be created out of so dubious a location. From the sullied parking lot of the Lifestyle building, from the dreary street corner aside perpetual construction, a small glowing red sign beckons one to stop, to question, to order, and to taste greatness in all its Mumbai, franchised glory. An unlikely turn landed us at the sign that was to be our siren song, and though we have tried to blind our eyes to its ebullient glow, to wax our ears and to bind our hands like Odysseus to the mast, it is of no use... we eat Frankies at least twice a week.

I know not what Frankies will do to me, but what I will do for Frankies...