Exit 53, Interstate 65, somewhere in Kentucky.
Sometime on these long car trips I think to myself: "We've sold out America by skipping past the local eateries, and taking our pit-stops in franchised fast-food locations. Â Why travel over 100 miles and eat at the same food that I could get at home?"
My wife responded, "Because the bathrooms are clean."
Apparently on these long car trips, I think out loud.
A badly needed restroom break coincided with the dinner hour. Â Taking the aforementioned exit, I was faced with the standard pee-break options. Â Wendy's, Taco Bell, KFC and Pizza Hut. Â All are worthy recipients for my used Red-Bull. Â But my eye was caught by a local diner: The Cast Iron Kettle. Â I thought to myself, "That just might be some tasty local flair. Â I wonder if Elizabeth (my wife) would agree to it?"
"Whatever, I just gotta use the restroom," said Elizabeth
Clearly I'm still thinking out loud.
We pull in, and as we enter we question if they're even open. Â It's 6:00 pm, and there's not a soul inside. Â The door opened, though, and the restrooms where in sight, so we proceeded. Â Maybe the rush-crowd comes after the nearby "Dinosaur World" closes.
They were, in fact, open, and we were greeted quick enough by the hostess. Â We were seated and while Elizabeth ran to the restroom, I used by mobile device to see if any Yelpers had been here before. Â If there were, they weren't admitting to it.
Of all the tables we could be seated at, we got one that was structurally unsound. Â The booth-table was supported by a single post about 1foot from the wall, and then anchored to the wall by a couple of nails that were pulling loose. Â About 10 lbs of pressure on the table on the entry side of the booth would tip the table enough to make the silverware slide down the table. Â 20 lbs would probably break it off the wall. Â Maybe that's why they were so empty. Â The tables killed all the regular patrons.
I got turkey with a side of buttered corn and mashed potatoes. Â The gravy options were "White or Brown". Â Fearing white might mean sausage gravy, I went with brown. The food had a distinctly home-made look and flavor, assuming the only spice in your house is salt, and maybe pepper for special occasions - which this wasn't.
The corn was an unnatural grayish color, and tasted of the tin can they clearly came from. Â The turkey salvaged the meal, boosting a bad meal to a solid mediocre.
Before hitting the road, I decided to empty the ole' bladder, and give this Interstate Pit-Stop location one last chance for redemption.
Again, they missed the mark. Â The bathroom was... less than clean. Â It wasn't very bad by public restroom standards, but it was far from the cleanliness that is the industry standard at franchised fast-food locations.
As we left, I thought to myself, "The food was mediocre, the restroom was dirty, what good was this place?"
The car remained quiet.
It was restful enough to get me to stop thinking out loud.