Sometimes It Is Big Hair & Fried Chicken

When I travelled through Europe, I made every effort to speak with people. I found a great icebreaker was to pull out postcards or small items like stamps, money, food to introduce people to my home.

I purchase two postcards for my journey. One showed the skyline of Houston, bright, modern and large. The second was a field of bluebonnets with an enormous longhorn steer grazing peacefully framed by a brilliant blue sky. In my camera bag I stowed small bags of honey glazed pecans and beef jerky. The packaging was everything. The pecans proudly proclaimed "The Taste of Texas." On the jerky, a cowboy roped a steer, looking lean, mean and definitely Texan. I hate to stereotype Texas, but it does work universally.

Once, while riding the train to Venice, my travel partners and I struck up a conversation with two beautiful Italian men. One, with his shades on, was the spitting image of Tom Cruise a la "Risky Business". He spoke fluent English and flirted mercilessly with us. The second, a gorgeous hunk who claimed to be an actor, spoke not a word of English. I offered him a bite of jerky and tried to explain it was "cowboy" food. He struggled with my hand motions and finally cried, "John Wayne?" We burst out laughing. "Si, John Wayne." I had to give him a bag of pecans to make up for putting him through the horror of tasting beef jerky.

Texas has been my adoptive state since 1988 when I moved from Louisiana. And through the years, I've learned that this huge and complex state is a whole lot more than cowboys. Still, there are moments when I'm in the midst of an adventure when I realize, sometimes it really is like a movie.

Last night, I rang up two friends, Terry & Sidney, and we took off to get dinner. Terry wanted to see if an old steakhouse "Duchos" was still in business. We took off driving and searching, and sadly found it abandoned and for sale. So we turned the corner and headed for the "Barbecue Inn." Sidney, a life-long resident of Houston, piped from the backseat that he had never been. We looked at him incredulously.

"Is the barbecue really that good?" He asked. "I don't know," I said, "I've never eaten it. For me, it's all about the fried shrimp and stuffed crab."

Terry disagreed, she liked the food, but didn't think the shrimp were all that great. Tonight, she was on a mission to finally taste the fried chicken.

"Why are we going to the BARBECUE Inn to eat fried food?" Sidney cried. "Just wait." We assured him.

The Inn opened in 1947, and I think until last year the decor remained exactly the same. One night while we were eating the waitress informed us that they were closing the next day for one week to redecorate. A month later I returned and had to examine closely to determine just what the heck had been changed. Not much, believe me and that's just fine by me.

We entered the small lobby and walked into the old-fashioned diner lined with orange plastic booths and chairs. The waitresses wear the classic diner uniforms in shades of brown and pink with their names attached. Most of them have been working for over two decades, and their hairstyles often seem as standard as the decor.

"Lilly" came over to see what we'd like to drink. I asked what types of beer they had.

"Miller Lite, Coors Lite & Bud." She drawled.

"Don't y'all have anything but light?" Sidney asked. Lilly squinted at him, and rolled her eyes. Without saying a word, her look clearly said, "It's a busy night, the place is hopping and I ain't got time for your nonsense."

"Honey, you can get just as drunk on a lite beer. Now what y'all gon' have?"

As she left with our drink order Sidney looked at us with concern. "I don't think she likes me much."

"Let's just say you clearly need to brush up on your charm." I advised him.

When Lilly returned I asked her about the fried chicken. The shrimp was sure looking good on the nearby tables and the menu warned that it was a minimum wait of 20 minutes for fried chicken.

Lilly leaned on the back of the empty chair and gave me a conspiratorial look. "Honey, I've been working her 25 years, and I don't eat nothing but the hamburgers. I just don't like to eat anything I can't recognize. I always wondered why the heck anyone would come in here and wait 20 minutes for CHICKEN! But my buddy, Martha over there made me eat it one night, and I'm gonna tell you - it's good. Now you go ahead and get the chicken. Trust me."

"I'll take it, and if I don't like it, I'm gonna blame you." I responded cheerfully. Lilly winked and happily wrote the order on her pad, her smile even wider when Terry ordered the chicken as well.

Lilly then braced and turned to Sidney. "What are YOU going to have?" She drawled with attitude.

"Fried shrimp and stuffed crab." He said meekly. She clucked, wrote in her pad and peered back - "What kind of dressing on your salad?"

I had forewarned my table companions. I am not a fan of thousand island dressing, but the Inn makes their's homeade. In order to reassure them I asked Lilly if it really was made on site. "Lord yes, honey, they boil up one heck of a lot of eggs to make it each morning." So it was thousand island all the way, but Sidney asked they bring it "on the side." Lilly looked up from her pad and glared.

As she walked away, Sidney enquired how our banter was considered fun with Lilly, while he somehow received the role of the bad guy. Friendly, funny, and incredibly sweet, Sidney isn't really ever considered a "bad" guy.

"Never mind that," I said. "I'm still trying to figure out what she meant by she doesn't eat anything she can't identify. How are hamburgers more identifiable than chicken?"

For the rest of the meal, Lilly checked in to see if we "loved" the fried chicken. We did. If everything was all right. It was. To Terry and I, Lilly was dear and adorable, clucking over us and kidding. To Sidney, she was the professional dealing with the difficult.

As she cleared away our dishes and we discussed her conversion to chicken. Then she mentioned the steak. I asked if it was good. "Lord yes," she sighed. "There's Martha over there....Hey Martha! Oh well, she's busy, but she got me to eat some of her steak one night and I tell you!"

A minute later, Lilly returned with a beaming Martha by her side. "Tell them," Lilly prodded, "tell them about making me eat the chicken and steak."

Martha nodded in serious agreement, "She's worked here all these years but she don't eat nothing but the hamburgers. I tell her, you must eat this steak with me. And she did, because it's delicious. And now she knows - I'm right."

As I looked at the pair, I left my body and saw the scene as though it were a movie. I looked at the customers. Older people, clearly eating there for 20-30 years, munching on iceberg lettuce, tomatoes and thousand island dressing. Families tearing into huge chicken fried steaks spilling over the plate. Kids happily singing as they devoured chocolate cream pies.

As we left, the lobby was filled to standing capacity. The waitresses hollered a number for the next party on the waiting list. As I walked out the door an older lady leaning on a wall waiting with her husband said, "Honey, tonight I think I'm going to get the fried chicken." He nodded.

Good choice, I thought.