The Broken Spoke

Old Stuff...

I have something exciting to tell you about.
I went on a date tonight. (believe it or not, that's not the exciting part) We went to the Broken Spoke for some--I'm quoting here--'Hardcore Country' and some good food. That's not the name of the band, because the schedule did not say "Alvin and James with Hardcore Country". The schedule clearly reads "James and Alvin" period "Hardcore Country" period. And Hardcore it was. Not Hardcore like wrestling, but Hardcore as in completely untainted by Nashville commercialism, big city pretentiousness, or fancy cooking. The menu was borrowed from any one of those small Texas po-dunk restaurants that you trip over on your way to the big city. The Chicken Fried Steak, as it is at every one of those places, is the best you've ever had, aside from your mother's.

I'd continue to tell you all about my own experience, but it wouldn't be much use. You'll just have to go yourself, and be sure to adhere to the following guidelines.

- Go on a Tuesday, for "Hardcore Country". I've been on weekends, and it's just not the same.
- Sit next to Carl, if the seat is available. 'Cool Carl' is one of those folks that don't so much have a height and a width as they have a radius and a circumference. He'll be wearing suspenders, and if you so much as glance in his direction, will tell you most, if not all, of the experiences and history he has absorbed in the last 25 years of going to the Broken Spoke every Tuesday night.
- Tour the picture room. (look for the sign that says 'Tourist Trap') You'll see Willie Nelson when he had a crew cut, and a ton of other pictures of celebrities that have visited the Spoke.
- Order the Chicken Fried Steak. Then order the Peach Cobbler with Ice Cream.
- Have a couple of bucks for the 8-year old that hustles the tip jar for the band. Mostly just because you'll feel like a jerk if you have to tell that little Smile that you don't have anything.
- Shake Hands with the Legend himself, James White. He'll be wandering around lookin' to shake yours. He wears shirts flashier than a disco, countrier than my Pappy, and louder than the music. *
- Dance.

*On a subsequent visit, Cool Carl was gone, and I got into a conversation with James about--among other things--Carl. I haven't had that many laughs in awhile. It felt like talking to the old farmers as a kid at the coffee shop when my dad would drag me with him on summer mornings. It's a particular kind of gossip, a laughter at the absentee's expense that's somehow more affectionate than it is mean. I like that place.