Tuesday, March 13, 2007

The Ranch Report from the Hitchin Post! Haw!

'Twas a fateful day of five moons ago, but I swear that it seems like it was only FOUR moons ago. Me and the rustlin' posse'd made our way down south, toward the river region, where the sun's bigger than a frying pan on Sunday, and the misty meadow makes me wish I was with a neked woman 'stead of the same ol rustlers.

But that's the way it was, as I recall. My belly was empty as two dollar shoes and my throat was parched for something wet and cool. That's when we sidled upon Yon Hitchin' Post:

It was a comfortable little nook on the side of the dusty road, and my compadres and I had had enough for one day of the lonesome trail. At the Hitchin' Post, we were able to sit ourselves into a more friendly frame of mind. Why, we ate up all their offerings: Cincinnati chili, fried chicken, onion rings, fried mushrooms, taters and gravy and more store-bought dinner rolls than we knew what to do with! (OVERALL GRADE: B) The place was a little greasy, sure-and the attitude in the joint was "this is the way this place has looked for 20 years! Who're you to question it? ...you're not a regular, anyway", (QUESTIONABLE LEVEL: 2.5 Quite Safe) but ranch hands like us have got to where we don't even mind that sort of thing. If we can get hot food at a fair price, we walk away pretty happy. And on this day (was it as far back as November? I have to think so, based on the tchotchke you'll see in the sill in this photo:
Why, that's a li'l TURKEY over thar! Reminds me of the bird we ate that day! Hyah!

Luckily, "Boots" Ranson brought him a new-fangled 'picture maker' that day (we still ain't really figgered that thing out), and got us a few more shots of this roundup:







That there's "Click-Clack" Valentine tucking into some chuckwagon chili. Sometimes at night the fellas around the campfire say he's one o them ahomasexules, but I don't see it a'tall. Powder blue can be a manly color, if you have the right attitude.

And that there's yours truly, Silver Steve. They call me Silver not because of the fancy food coloring I put on my haed, but because there's parts of my body that are like the Lone Ranger's horse. Do you know what I mean, reader? I bet you do. Yup, I got them horse teeth were you can see my gums and all when I grin. That's how come I never smile with my mouth open.



As usual, when you're in the saddle out here in the wiles of Eastern Cincinnata, you do run across fellas every now and then who seem like their ear infection went a little too deep. I suspect them wrong-in-the-head types are the kind that came up with this rip off of what was a bad idea to begin with. Slogans and catchphrases aren't really my style, and here we can see why.



Okey doke, padnahs, got to mosey on. That old sunset's calling my name. But remember this, cowpokes: when you're feeling a little down on yer luck, and your ol ma's far away, the Hitchin' Post can rustle you up a tasty mess a grub faster'n a possum shits jalapenos. Take care, friend.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

03/07/07: J.K.'s Chili



LOCATION: J.K.'s Chili (Breakfast & Sandwiches)
A puked-upon keyboard necessitated a midday trip north to the Apple store for a replacement, so today's SLOTM adventure took place in my neck of the woods, none other than good ol' Madeira, OH. Kyle wanted chili. Stevie wanted breakfast. DVal wanted a sandwich.

I knew just the place.

GRADE: A-
This place was one of the best SLOTM finds to date. The food was very good, in a greasy spoon diner, breakfast-and-sandwich-counter chili joint kind of way. Although we felt a little ostracized at first (as the only non-regulars in the place), this sensation is one to which we've become more or less accustomed, as pretty much every SLOTM venue has been a haven for "regulars." The service was a little chilly initially, too, mostly thanks to Stevie's hemming and hawing over menu options and protest of the inavailability of the "small breakfast" at lunchtime (more on the server relationship in the "Contact" section below). Really, the only reason I've graded this place an "A-" instead of a straight up "A" is that our food took a little too long and J.K. only accepts cash (another common bane of the SLOTM warriors).

QUESTIONABLE LEVEL: 4 (of 10)
J.K. falls on the lower end of this scale thanks mostly to the good food and the safe, Mayberry-like environs of Madeira. Don't get me wrong, though. It's a dive. (Just look at the pictures below.) The SLOTM fixtures of cheap wood paneling, dingy lighting and assortments of totally random crap on the walls just add to J.K.'s charm, if you ask me.




There are so many odd things to be found (if you look closely) in the pictures above, but let me highlight just a few: how about that ancient Native American dagger hanging above the Reds pennant? (My theory is that only the TRUE heir to the J.K. dynasty will be able to remove it from the wall.) Then, just to the right, there's the "Attitude Adjuster" mallet from Marge Schott's house (yep, we asked). Uh, that makes sense there, I guess. Perhaps the most soothing decorative element we enjoyed today, though, was the realistic beach scene mural behind DVal. It was like a mini vacation in the middle of the work day!

CONTACT NAMES: Angie (I think) & Jerry (the "J" in "J.K.'s Chili")
As I mentioned above, I think we (read: Steven) rubbed Angie the wrong way initially. At first I thought we were in for an awkward series of curt interactions that might or might not have resulted in spit in somebody's food or someone kissing someone's grits. In all fairness, however, Angie was the only server in the bustling chili-cum-sandwich joint. She simply didn't have the time to suffer a table of witty newbies pontificating on possible menu permutations while a restaurant full of hungry drywallers waited to be served. After the (early) lunch rush passed, Angie succumbed to the collective charm of the SLOTM adventurers and regaled us with the establishment's history.

And speaking of history, J.K.'s can be summed up in a word: "Jerry." Jerry, an immigrant to these fine United States, has owned this restaurant for 35 years, during which he's worked consecutive 100-hour weeks without a vacation to put two kids through college. Wow. Now that's one heck of a work ethic. No wonder he's selling the place next year. He's probably exhausted. We asked Jerry to recreate the photo of himself 35 years younger (and looking very much like a chili-slinging Borat - that's NICE!), and although he didn't quite get it, he was happy to pose in front of it for us. Way to go, Jerry. SLOTM loves ya.



QUOTE: "You boys want to buy my restaurant?" (Jerry)

NOTES/PHOTOS:
For as good as the food is here, J.K. advertises lottery sales on an equal billing. We didn't bite.

I bet you didn't know that I was Maderia High School's defensive lineman of the week in 1993. Neither did I.



Uncle Steve treated us to ice cream Snickers bars on the way home because we were good. We were happy campers (DVal ate his in less than 10 seconds). Thanks, Uncle Stevie!