Our hotel in San Antonio was on the west side of town. It was a simple path, straight up Interstate 10 to our destination. We needed to get lunch on the way. There were plenty of eating establishments along I-10 on the way out of San Antonio. Finding a suitable restaurant would be simple, I hoped.
Maybe I had better explain about Marty and food. Before Marty will consider eating any food, it has to meet certain criteria. It has to be of the right age, ancestry, culture and species. Any food that is older than 24 hours is not fit for his consumption. Leftovers are definitely out. The proper ancestry means that if he ever had a bad meal somewhere, he can never trust them again. (There were a few times I feared that he would never eat my cooking again.) Culture means that any kind of Mexican food is acceptable. Speci
es means that any type of seafood is not.We started down I-10. We quickly passed by several choices of fast food. Hamburgers, chicken nuggets or sub sandwiches just didn’t sound good. Marty was craving his favorite meal of turkey and dressing. I like turkey fine, once or twice a year, but Marty loves it. I think if I cooked him a turkey with dressing every week he would be blissful, as long as I didn’t serve it again the next day. (Do you know where I can buy a two serving turkey?) However, if I cooked a turkey on Sunday, prepared turkey sandwiches on Monday, baked turkey pot pie on Tuesday and prepared turkey stew on Wednesday, he would be perfectly content. Does this make any sense to you?
I, however, am a little more adventuresome when it comes to food. I like to try something different now and then, especially on vacation. Why should I spend hours in the car, traveling hundreds of miles, to eat the same burrito that I could have eaten six blocks from my house? Vacations are meant for a change of pace. A vacation is a chance to try something you can’t get at home.
So, we are cruising down I-10 at 60 mph. I suggest that we eat barbecue. No. Marty is not in the mood for that. He doesn’t have to have turkey, but barbecue just doesn’t sound right. I spot a Chinese restaurant. No. His stomach can’t handle Chinese today. We continue along in silence. Twenty minutes pass and the restaurants are becoming sparse.
Marty sees a good prospect. “Cracker Barrel! They have turkey and dressing,” he sings gleefully. That sounds very conventional to me, but I am starting to get a low blood sugar headache. “OK, Honey. We can eat at Cracker Barrel. How are you going to get there?” He had noticed the restaurant after we passed the exit. “I’ll take the next exit and we’ll circle back.” We are now traveling away from Cracker Barrel at 60 mph.
We long ago passed the city limits. The exits are widely spaced now. We go a mile down the road. No exit. We continue for two miles, three miles. Finally after about four miles we spot an exit. He starts to take it. “No,” I say. “It’s too far. We shouldn’t go back. We need to keep going forward.” He keeps driving. He’s disappointed about missing his turkey lunch and I have a headache. We need to find something soon.
I notice a billboard. “Po Po Family Restaurant 20 miles. That sounds good.” “I don’t want to eat at a Poo Poo restaurant,” he replies. I am silent. Maybe something better will turn up. We keep driving. My headache is getting worse.
Twenty minutes later we have passed no restaurants. It’s about 50 miles to Kerrville and there are no prospects for lunch in between. I see another sign. “Po Po Family Restaurant next exit. Take it, Marty.” He groans. “Do you know what kind of sanitation they have in places like that? They are probably afraid for the health department to visit because they will be shut down.” “Take the exit,” the woman with a headache says in a menacing growl. He takes the exit.
The city limit sign reads Welfare, Texas. “Great,” he says. “We are in the poor part of town. This is going to be some cheap, sleazy restaurant.” He follows the signs down the road and we eventually pull up to a restaurant with dozens of cars crowded outside. I try to offer encouragement. “The place seems to be popular.” We get out of the car.
As we walk up we see EATS in neon over the door. “Classy,” he mutters. We step inside and see that the walls are covered with souvenir plates. Directly above the hostess stand we notice an interesting combination of plates: Elvis, Marilyn Monroe and Pope John Paul II. The hostess takes us to a table.
What will we eat? It is a difficult question since Marty and I always share a meal. How can we take care of my headache and please his picky stomach? The waitress makes a suggestion. “You might want to try our special of the day. It was made fresh this morning. Do you like turkey and dressing?”
