Cracker Barrel

I can’t say enough about Cracker Barrel, and I don’t know why.  I don’t live in the South anymore.  I don’t need any lavender-scented hand lotion.  GooGoo Clusters give me headaches.  I’m not big on college paraphernalia.

But I really like Cracker Barrel.  Maybe it’s the fact that no one winces when you choose rice, mac and cheese and mashed potatoes as your three “vegetables” with your chicken livers.  Maybe it’s the John Deere baby clothes for sale.  Maybe it’s the fact that the waitresses and waiters get stars for all sorts of things (apparently 6 months of work yields a star, but one can also earn a star for other good deeds).  I picture one of my recent waitresses there getting a star for saving a puppy from a vat of french fry oil or something.  

It’s Crystal I’m thinking of… at a Cracker Barrel in Virginia.  She told us that her apron should have more stars on it but that they had misspelled her name (left off the “t”) and had to redo it.  She was waiting patiently.

I’m trying not to eat so many biscuits and so much chicken fried steak these days, but Cracker Barrel is comforting regardless of what you eat.

The bathrooms are always clean.  They sell Teaberry gum, which one of my favorite people loves.  

I know I’ve written about it before, but good things bear repeating.  Maybe formulas are comforting to me.  Maybe sameness is a gift on a wild and woolly road trip.

Maybe I’m a closet “Rising Star” (the servers not yet graced with stars).  At Cracker Barrel, if you’re not yet a star, it’s assumed you are on your way to being one (or having some on your apron).  Everybody gets the benefit of the doubt.

Hmmm… grace with meat and three.

~ by Cary on April 17, 2009.

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