Sunday’s Column – You Never Forget Your First Joint

Mar 9, 2014 by winjaw

(With all the great new restaurants opening in town recently, I’m dusting off an old column about one of my favorites from years ago.)

It’s the smell that hits you when you first enter. And it’s the smell you’ll always remember.

There’s nothing else like it.

Over time, you’ll start seeing familiar faces, others with that same craving. Habits may change, but you will always remember your first joint. And it probably was your father who made the introduction.

The names differ from city to town, but the decor is fairly constant. A friend may introduce you to his joint, and you’ll feel right at home. But your favorite joint is your hometown one, the one that makes the best burgers in the world.

Mine was located in Tulsa, and every time we came back, it was the first food stop. Always. Except Mondays, when they were closed.

My dad first took me there, and for a while it was our Saturday morning ritual. I started taking the SONS of Thunder there. They, just like I did at that age, favor the stools at the counter. They spin really well.

The ketchup comes in glass bottles and it’s the slowest ketchup in the world. When I was young, one of the old-timers working the counter told me to squeeze the bottle. I did, he laughed and then I did, too, although I was a little embarrassed. Same thing happened to one of the SONS of Thunder. Same guy, same joke. Forty years apart.

Yet, for more than 40 years, the place has held up pretty well, run by the same family. The booths are tired, as are a lot of the chairs. But that’s the way it always is.

Over the years, the faces started to change. But the food always remained constant. Sometimes I like constant things. You can have a hamburger, cheeseburger, weinerburger, fish or grilled cheese. They also have “bowl” specials on different days — butter beans, navy beans or beef stew. There’s homemade chili and a few side dishes — cottage cheese, coleslaw and if you get the hamburger steak, which is what the LBD always gets, they give you two slices of white bread.
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The pies are homemade. They’re huge slices and you order them when you get your regular food order because you sure don’t want someone else to get that last slice. They only make so many each day. The SONS favor coconut and chocolate.

There has been one change in the food options. They no longer serve french fries. See, some of the employees, including the head cook, are veterans. They didn’t take too kindly to the French bailing on us during the Second Iraqi War. So they still serve fries, but now they’re Freedom fries. With a capital “F.”

On the day of my wedding, I took all the groomsmen to lunch there. Ordered what I’ve always ordered — two cheeseburgers, mayo only, onions fried in. Side of Freedom fries, and, of course, a root beer. I don’t know where they get it, but it’s the best and coldest root beer around. Served in a frozen glass mug.

A couple of years ago I went back during a family visit. I didn’t recognize a single face. New cook, new waitresses, new cook, even the dishwasher guy was new. New owners.

And while the “ambiance” was exactly as I remembered, it just wasn’t the same. I took the Little Black Dress there a week later, hoping, praying, my last visit was some imbalance in the galaxy or something.

It wasn’t. Even the LBD said it was different. Something was missing in the taste and I still can’t put my finger on it. Even the root beer — the one constant — seemed different. And Middle SON pointed out the coconut pie wasn’t as good. And that’s a big sign.

And that made me sad. Because “your” joint should never change. We need a few constants in life, a few things we can always rely on.

Life goes on. But I’m not really sure that’s such a good thing in this case.