It was my birthday last August, a Friday night, and my wife took me to this joint a little northeast of Oklahoma City. It was in the woods, in the middle of nowhere albeit within a short drive of another iconic stop in Arcadia, “Pops.”
The joint to which I’m referring is “Chicken Shack,” a fried chicken heaven that had been in a town called Luther up until recently. Long story.
Giving into my Texas roots, I stood in line for a coldbeer (you have to say it with emphasis on the ‘cold’), when I engaged these guys in conversation. It turns out they were videographers and video project managers for Knox Studios in Oklahoma City. They do a lot of work with Ackerman McQueen, and I work in local TV news, and so it turns out we had a lot more in common than just waiting in the coldbeer line at the “Chicken Shack.”
City boys in the sticks.
They paid for my Shiner Bock, and Kristi and I found our way to an open slice of a picnic table out back. The joint was packed and hopping, and come to find out, one of their waitresses had quit on the spot minutes after our arrival. Made for a long wait.
But it was worth every minute.
Five months later, we made it back to “Chicken Shack,” this time with my in-laws. For me, it had been a particularly long week. I had two Shiners instead of one.
Wild man.
We ordered way too much food. We took so much home.
We even stopped by “Pops” for a treat on the way home.
And as I sit at my desk tonight listening to The Band, which was the big topic of conversation between my father-in-law and me, I dipped into the David Crosby discography and then jumped head first into country music, including a bunch of songs I listened to back in my Texas days.
I need to make sure I don’t wait another five months to get out here.
It’s like my soul’s been given a re-set.
