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By Jack Godbey

Columnist

As with all good stories, this one begins with gravy. There’s just something about gravy that makes me happy. Growing up, I remember nothing was more delicious than when my mother cooked up a batch of country gravy. If I was being good, which wasn’t very often, I would even occasionally get some chocolate gravy. Since I’m no spring chicken anymore, I try to eat a little healthier these days. 

So, as I was eating my plate of broccoli, I couldn’t help but think how delicious it would be if it were drowning in gravy. That started a craving that I fought for almost a full two weeks before I gave in. Finally, I decided if I was going to have gravy, then I’d just throw caution to the wind and have a full-blown country meal to go with it. I wanted to go to the Cracker Barrel, where they speak my language, but my wife suggested that we try the new Japanese restaurant. I was initially skeptical about finding a country meal at the Japanese place. Plus, I normally shy away from food that I can’t pronounce, but I figured that I’d make do. That was my first mistake.

Once I began to scan the menu, I quickly realized that there was no cornbread, no soup beans, and no biscuits and gravy on the menu. When the waiter came, he recommended a dish called Sashimi. Granted, I didn’t understand most of his words due to his thick accent, but I suppose he could say the same thing about me. The only word I recognized was fish. I imagined some deep-fried catfish with hushpuppies. Boy, was I wrong. I had no idea that Sashimi was actually raw fish, but I found out soon enough. When the food arrived, I looked at my plate and told the waiter that someone forgot to turn on the stove when they cooked my fish. He rolled his eyes and mumbled something about an idiot. I don’t know who he was talking about. I decided I would have to pass.

On the drive home, with hunger pangs in my stomach, I couldn’t stop thinking about biscuits and gravy. My wife said something about culture and trying new things, but all I know is that when I go to Cracker Barrel, you don’t have to specify your fish to be cooked. They just do that all on their own. 

I learned two lessons that night. For one, I learned that what one person enjoys, another may find disgusting. Second, I learned that we can’t take things for granted. I assumed they would cook the fish, but I was very wrong.

After I arrived home $50 bucks poorer and still hungry, my wife whipped up some eggs and asked how I would like them. I answered, cooked, my dear. You can never be too sure you know.