Arkansas Food

          ARKANSAS

                        BY

             Richard Mason

                              Arkansas Food

We were driving north of Little Rock heading for the Ozarks, when we decided to have lunch. I noticed a nice looking café with plenty of trucks, and I figured, the pickup trucks were voting it was a decent place to have lunch.  We pulled in between two Ford 150s and walked into the cafe.

            “Y’all just have a seat anywhere,” said a lady at the cash register.

            We found a booth and settled in as our waitress came over. It was an immediate uptick. A rather tall, red-haired young lady with a nice figure came over and with an ear to ear smile, purred, “What would y’all like to drink?”

            Course, I was smiling like some Cheshire Cat, that is until my wife kicked me under the table and said, “We’d both like ice tea…unsweetened.”

            The big smile softened a bit as she yelled at the cook in the kitchen, “Tony, fix up a couple of unsweetened ice teas!”

            Well, the kitchen had a big open window, and I watched as “Tony” pulled out a couple of instant tea bags and poured hot water over them. Oh, well, I thought, instant tea is not a big deal.

            Our smiling waitress had left the menus before she took the drink order, and I was eying the chicken-fried steak or the catfish filets.

            “What can I get for y’all?” It was our smiling waitress again, and she had pad in hand to take our order.

            My wife, who of course, orders first said, “I’d like the grilled chicken salad, and that’ll be all.”

            It crossed my mind that never in a million years would I have ever ordered that, but it was my turn now, and I had a question about the chicken fried steak and the mashed potatoes with cream gravy.

            “Are the potatoes instant?”

            Well, our smiling waitress looked as if I had slapped her, took a deep breath, and said, “Well, Tony really fixes up those mashed potatoes, and most people like ‘em better than the real ones.”

            I took that to be a “Yes, the potatoes are instant.” Thinking back, I probably shouldn’t have asked about the other “sides” on the menu.

            “Uh, well hold off on the chicken fried steak…and let’s see; oh, are the peas and snap beans fresh?”

            I guess our waitress was thinking some rather negative things about me, because through some pretty tight lips, she said, “Naw, unless you mean freshly canned or freshly frozen.”

            The ordering was getting a little tense, and my wife was shooting daggers at me for asking nosey questions about the menu. I knew it was time to order and move on.

            “Uh, well, I think I’ll just have the snap beans and cole slaw for my sides, and instead of chicken fried steak, I want the catfish filets and French fires, and make those fresh cut fries.”

            “What? Fresh cut?”

            “Oh, forget it. Just fries, okay?”

            “You got it.”

            She walked away as my wife glared at me.

            “Richard, that was rude. She can’t help what the kitchen does.”

            “I know it, but it does bother me to see a café not use fresh produce just because it’s a little more trouble. Oh, I did see a strawberry shortcake on the desert part of the menu. It’s May and Arkansas strawberries are everywhere, and you can’t miss with catfish filets.”

            But I was wrong.

            About fifteen minutes later our waitress placed our order in front of us, and I took a deep breath; these aren’t catfish filets, quickly zipped through my mind. I’m an old trot-liner from South Arkansas, and I can spot a filet across the room, but I didn’t say anything. Actually, considering everything was either canned, frozen, or misrepresented, it wasn’t that bad of a meal. We were just finishing up, and I still had the strawberry shortcake on my mind when our waitress walked back to our table, “How were those catfish filets?” she asked. I couldn’t resist the comment, “Pretty good, but they aren’t filets.”

            “What?”

            “Nope; filets are the sides of the fish. They aren’t one inch wide and eight inches long. These are what I call a ’belly’ strips.” I didn’t say it, but after I filet a catfish, I throw the remainder of the fish away. I had just eaten the throw –a-ways.

            “Well, the folks that sells ‘em to us calls ‘em filets.”

            “Well,….say, let me have an order of the strawberry shortcake.”

            “Okay.”

            Our waitress headed for the kitchen, as my wife whispered across the table, “Richard, quit giving the girl a hard time. She can’t help it.”

            “I know, but everything on the menu could have been so much better if it had been fresh out of the garden and the catfish filets were really filets.”

            I’d just said that when the strawberry shortcake was set down in front of me. Yes, I know I had promised by wife to not say anything else, but when those baseball size strawberries were placed in front of me I couldn’t resist. They had California written all over them.

            “Oh….” I shook my head as I tasted the bland strawberry. I pushed it away and motioned for the waitress to bring me the check. As she handed me the check, her eyes spotted the strawberry shortcake. “What’s wrong with the strawberry shortcake?”

            “It’s strawberry season in Arkansas, and these strawberries aren’t Arkansas berries.”

            “Well, they’re what the truck brought us.”

            As we got up to leave my wife whispered, “Leave a big tip. She deserves it after putting up with you.”

            I did, and she probably did deserve it.

            Well, it’s sad to say, but this café isn’t a lone outpost of canned, frozen, or inferior food, it’s just the run of the mill Arkansas café fare. But it didn’t have to be. Arkansas food can and is some of the best in the nation, if it’s fresh, real, and properly prepared. A good chicken fried steak with real mashed potatoes, and fresh purple hull peas, and sliced fresh tomatoes is a joy to eat. I know it’s a little more trouble to serve fresh from the farm food, but it’s worth the trouble. If we really want good food, we must insist on it, and if the café or restaurant doesn’t serve it, we should vote with our feet and leave the place.