Yesterday, I decided to try to eat at a particular local eatery again. I gave Dawn time to roll her eyes a few times and for her to realize that I wasn’t joking. This place is atop our “Never Again” list, tied with Neal’s Diner and AQ Chicken. Being in New Orleans warped our sense of the ordinary.
We’re still in vacation mode and therefore were willing to eat a little less healthy. Our go-to place near our house is still closed due to a fire. (No, I didn’t start the fire, despite what Billy Joel might say.) East Springdale is the armpit of death for good eateries, and while I’m a fan of Springdale, our selection of restaurants compared to Rogers and Fayetteville is ‘no contest,’ especially for healthy or interesting food. We can’t even count on Subway anymore, as the turnover rate is higher than mathematically possible and they sometimes insist that a napkin is, in fact, a sandwich topping if cooked.
Since the new stretch of Old Wire Road is finished, we can drive easily to many places toward Rogers in comfort. Old Wire Road turns into 1st Street as it enters Rogers. This road is fabulous. We’re waiting on the last leg of it to be finished by Randall Wobbe Lane. At that point, we’ll have one of the most modern roads to get us around and out of Springdale.
We’ve had a few attempts at this local restaurant fail miserably. It used to be a relatively dirty dive, but you could count on decent food, even if the bathroom resembled something you’d find in an abandoned bus station. It moved to a new building. Ever since then, being able to assume you could get both decent food and decent service on the same visit became a dubious endeavor. On our last attempt, we walked out after hearing the employees argue about whether they wanted to seat anyone. It was a bitter discussion, too, not a casual one. Surprisingly, my wife agreed to give it a try yesterday. Because of the rain, cold and the early hour, I ignorantly decided to call her bluff and go. We arrived a few minutes after the restaurant opened. I walked up to open the door for my wife and the door jerked. It was still locked. This was no “it’s 11:01” situation – it was way past time to open the doors. Weirdly, there were 5 people already inside and seated. I’m not sure how they got in there unless supernatural forces were involved.
Dawn was cold, so she went back to wait in the car. Because I had decided I was going to act crazy, if necessary, I called the number on the door. A woman answered. I used the craziest, high-pitched broken voice I could muster and shrieked into my phone, “What time do you open?” She said, “11 a.m.” Using the same stupid voice, I shouted, “We be freezing out here. It’s way after 11.” The woman didn’t know what to say. She finally said, “Oh no, you’re right,” and hung up. When she came out, she said that the manager had the only set of keys and he was both late and missing, as usual. Those words inspired confidence that my culinary experience would be excellent, as you might imagine.
We both survived the experience, although it was touch and go for a few moments. Dawn’s food was strange and mine was wrong but I carefully got my situation fixed without the risk of eating a floor-wiped tortilla.
I didn’t mention the restaurant by name, as you may have noticed. When people ask about this place, I always mention this as the “don’t go” place. I’m not entirely convinced that the Mafia or a Cartel doesn’t own it.
The service there is a crime, anyway.
P.S. We also tried the Big Orange in the Pinnacle Mall the other day. It was divine. Two people can easily share a sandwich and a side and leave filled – or you can do as I did and eat so much that I almost had to cut a vertical slit in my shirt in order to be able to breathe.