Breakfast for Supper: What a Grand Idea!
Running late. Again.
Been in Paducah all afternoon in power meetings. I hastily pulled into the parking lot of Ruby Faye’s Restaurant, just as the shadows of early evening engulf my old Chevy van.
It was 6:00 p.m. I took the last parking space. Some 12 cars had beaten me here. For Clinton, this was a mob, loose upon the countryside searching for food.
My stomach and I fought the entire 48 miles from Paducah to Clinton. After each “growl” I hollered at my stomach to shut up. Knowing I was having breakfast tonight, I had fed yogurt to the “stomach” for lunch. Big mistake.
My stomach screamed at me that it was going into “food depravation shock” for being starved.
Walking into the restaurant was like returning to the old home place of my youth. Food was everywhere. People—whole families - were laughing and having a good ole time. The entire mood of the room soon melted away the stress of the wild drive from Paducah.
Ken Jewell, one of the owners, had just left. However, Ann Jewell, his wife explained to me that on Wednesday nights, she was the one who “made the magic” happen in the kitchen.
Ann showed me the simple, yet eloquent Breakfast for Supper menu.
After careful review, I froze with indecision. So many selections, so many choices, what to do?
Eggs, sausage patties, bacon, steak, biscuits, home fries, and ‘tater casserole. The menu went on.
Shock!
In Clinton—at evening time—homemade French Toast with special butters---WOW!!!
Closing my eyes, images of the French Quarter along Bourbon Street a lifetime ago quickly flooded my mind.
Ann, seeing my problem in selection, offered up her advice. “Try the ‘tater casserole—its hardy and very good.”
Still I had driven an hour—thinking of a large old fashioned breakfast. What to do?
Fifteen minutes later, Ann solved the problem. She brought out both home fries and tater casseroles.
‘Tater casserole—Think the best potato casserole you’ve ever had at Cracker Barrel. Hold that thought. Now throw it out of your mind. It pales in comparison to what was before me.
Small cuts of onion, encased in a yellow frame.
Presentation and style of layout are important in setting up the mind for a taste experience. Before me, on plate one, a large portion of small cuts of onion, encased in a yellow frame of tender care. These lay next to two eggs and a mound of home fries.
Plate number two held 3 foot long crisp pieces of Harper Ham bacon being caressed by two six inch spheres of light pancakes.
I fought back the urge to just dive head first into the food. My professionalism held control for a few more seconds.
From behind me and to my side, a small voice asked her grandmother, “Why is the strange man taking pictures of his eggs?”
I paid her no attention as I angled the cup of coffee next to the plate of pancakes. Click. Click. Flash and Flash. A somber quiet had settled over the restaurant. I’m sure many thought I was some sort of food terrorist, who had lost his way and landed in Clinton.
Before the mob formed, the Paul family strolled by. Allen, Melinda, Jacob, and Ben stopped to see what I was doing. They had just finished their breakfast meal.
Looking straight at Allen and Melinda, I said in a loud voice, “Honest, I’m doing food research for the newspaper.
Allen and Melinda laughed, knowing what type of harmless character I am. The room once again became noisy with happy sounds.
After they left, I stood looking down at the bacon and pancakes, trying to remember the last time I had allowed myself to enjoy such a feast.
Pancakes had been made at 4:15 by Ann, just before Breakfast for Supper was to be served from 4:30 p.m. through 7:00p.m.
Slowly, I put fork to mouth. The gesture reveals taste of medium cheddar cheese, hidden in a small hill of creamy texture that becomes one with your taste buds. Um, how wonderful a sensation!
‘Tater casserole almost like a yellow cheese cake better fit as a meal unto itself rather than side dressing for two naked eggs.
the casserole was gentle and sophisticated. The Home fries were just the opposite.
The home fries, product of the deep fryer, had rough edges. Unlike most home fries born of deep fry, they were soft in texture, almost fluffy in taste. They were just the thing to use for slopping up the eggs from the plate.
The crispness of the bacon fought with the softness of the pancakes. Yet, in the end, it was the flavor of the maple sugar that won the day.
I slowly let the full experience of my own food orgy take me into one of those places you go to be happy.
Finishing the meal, I said good bye to Ann and her staff. Settling into the old blue van, my stomach let me know, with its feeling of total joy and contentment, that this was a special place. One we should visit more often.
Putting the V-8 engine into reverse, I thought to myself, French Toast.
Another time, another evening when I throw caution to the wind and take pleasure in the art of enjoying really good food at a place along the road, in a small town, near the rim of civilization, called Ruby Faye’s. |
