It started innocently enough, books on tape and the occasional breakfast. But for Mike Ray, Cracker Barrel became an obsession and an embarrassment. But here, like a real man, he confronts his demons.
By Mike Ray,
210 West contributing writer
Recently I have developed a bad habit. This habit is directly related to my travels. Worst of all, I feel that if I keep engaging in such behavior it may lead to future health problems. I'm actually embarrassed about this bad habit.
Tonight I could not pass up the temptation of the behavior that may lead to my demise.
It's no small wonder that I have been driven to engage in such damning behavior. This thing is a sin of the commoners, the lemmings of the world. And I have fallen victim to it.
I must confess this sin, this risky behavior, and this shameful display of lack of self-control, is none other than eating at Cracker Barrel.
Who would have thought that I would fall victim to such a bad concept restaurant? Sure, it started out small. I would stop in to get one of those books on tape I love. It seemed harmless. The books on tape are such a great value. You pay for the book up front and then pay $3 a week rental fee. When you return the book, they refund the cost and only charge you the $3 a week and it maxes out at $18.
Then I started to buy water. It was no big deal, only water. Then on occasion, I would buy a root beer -- Stewart's (you know, the good kind). Once I even bought a bag of Charlie Chips (only for nostalgic reasons...or so I thought).
Then if I would go during off-hours when it was not busy I would have breakfast. Hey, it's only breakfast. I mean the smoke house breakfast with fresh thick country bacon is so good. The whole time I would sit there and think "God this place is so tacky. How can people eat this shit? Just hand me a can of Crisco and a spoon. Why? Why?"
Next, I started to have lunch. No big deal, only lunch. Well what the fuck? Every thing started spinning out of control. Lunch turned to dinner and now I find myself eating the turkey special on regular basis. What's next? Meatloaf? Oh, God, no, not the fucking meatloaf.
Is there any hope?
At this rate, I'll be dead in a few decades.
But you have to admit, the place has true cheese appeal. The fire place. Those made in Taiwan nostalgic fucking nick knack knock offs. Please God save my soul before it's too late.
I have dabbled with bad concept restaurants before. We have all eaten at a "Hard Rock Cafe" or a "Planet Hollywood" even a "Bubba Gumps" or two. But, I have passed that point. I have gone too far.
At least I have my anonymity. I eat at a new Cracker Barrel every few days. Sometimes I wolf my food down so fast, hoping no one spots me. At first I paid only in cash, to not leave a paper trail. Well, those days are long forgotten.
Today I'm in West Virginia. To these people Cracker Barrel is Morton's of Chicago. I found myself browsing around the trap known as the "olde country store." What the fuck could I possibly buy there? Upon leaving I asked the clerk if they sold the music that they play at the restaurant at the store.
Thankfully, she said no.
So now I sit back and thank the good Lord for the little things. At least he made the Cracker Barrel walking distance from the Super 8...and from the gas station / liquor store. Now I sit back with a glass of Tennessee goodness in one hand and a smoking Dominican between my lips and ask God to give me the strength to stop the insane dangerous addiction to the Cracker Barrel. May the righteous lord of forgiveness have mercy on me.
Well said. I've been there. I can relate. Now I'm trying to ween my spouse off of the addiction but those sweet, cute, corn muffins call his name and there we are, another Sunday, "eating out" and him arguing that the Cracker Barrel is the best place in town! He was drawn in by the breakfast, too. Now it's chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes. What does this say about us as people? as a nation? And could somebody please put up more than just lattice walls to separate us from the smoking area? So hail to truckers and travelers everywhere, we've all fallen prey to the finger lickin' goodness of their tasty hot buns and had to take a rest on a nice, easy rocking chair on the porch to rest afterwards.
P.S. The use of explatives does not enhance the writing in this case. Paint the picture, don't muddy it.
In a quandry about where to take my visiting horde of siblings and our parents for Thanksgiving, we headed for the Cracker Barrel. Although not homemade, it was pretty damn close.
As a Cracker Barrel officianado and fellow journalist, I would like to point several innacuracies in said column.
A) There is no Crisco in the Cracker Barrel at all. Never. Maybe butter, which is natural. From a cow, in case you didn't know.
B) The knick knack knock offs are actually antiques that Cracker Barrel scouts from across the country find at estate sales, garage sales and other "redneck" sales opportunities. All are kept in a warehouse in Tennessee.
C) And yes, you can buy the music they play in the restaraunt — go to crackerbarrel.com.
C) It's not the main dishes that will kill you but the side dishes, all of which are homemade. A little cheese never hurt anyone.
So keep up your stereotype of this ripped off concept. It existed way before the Planet Hollywoods of the world.
im looking for a cigar with a 50 ring gage and a natural wraper very vainy mike L. Ray help us.
I can't tell you how many times I've prayed to God with a smoking Dominican between my lips.
Honestly, I've known this kid for years and I didn't think he knew how to write, sure drink and wreck cars but write in a complete sentence? I'm impressed.