Fine dining in Arizona.
We arrived in Kingman, AZ late yesterday evening after a long day’s drive from LA.
Had a lovely breakfast with my gracious cousins and then hit the road. It’s the Monk’s first time in AZ and he is very attentive and appreciative of the landscape. All those endless miles of nothing but desert as far as your eye can see. I was road drunk when we finally sat down to a meal at the only place we could agree upon. Cracker Barrel.
I have never been to a Cracker Barrel and when we parked and saw all the rocking chairs on the wide porch the Monk remembered his last experience at a Cracker Barrel in North Carolina where he went with his Hindu Indian friend and a Christian friend of hers. After the meal the Christian friend confessed to feeling a deep sadness because the Monk and her Indian friend were going to burn in hell because neither of them had accepted Jesus Christ as their savior. The Indian friend asked her if all the Aids work the Monk did in Africa, all the hundreds of people he has saved and helped if that counted for nothing and the Christian friend said, nope, he’s still going to hell.
There you have it.
The Cracker Barrel. First off, everywhere I go with the Monk we get stared at as if we were the strangest things to crawl out of some hole anyone has ever seen. He’s 6 feet tall, 200 lbs give or take, and dressed in long gold robes. Mostly people just stare but occasionally some brave soul strikes up a conversation. Like yesterday while on line at a supermarket, the man behind us politely asked what religion he was. I like that.
Anyway, there wasn’t anyone gonna ask at the Cracker Barrel. I’ve never been anywhere so straight up and down white America before. I could feel every eye on us, a hush came over that cavernous place as we walked to our table. And the food. Oh dear. We’ve been in LA where my cousin is a freakin’ gourmet cook genius and when they took us out it was to farm to table places where the waiter tells you your chickens name and his ancestry. At the Cracker Barrel I’m pretty sure they can give you the sell by dates on the cans if you ask nicely. The Monk was thrilled with all of it of course, especially when they served him an extra root beer float for serving the first one in a broken glass and then a free dessert for giving us the wrong bill. It was the first dessert I’ve ever seen him unable to finish. He says he’s becoming a pussy in his old age.