Joe Ohio

Table for One

22: Road Trip

Steak? Why not. Joe looked at the menu and decided he’d have it all. Driving made him hungry; driving made him think of all the things he’d do when he stopped. A hot cup of coffee. A good long leak. Crack the back, stretch the legs. Chow down. Usually he stopped at a roadside joint, because a burger was usually all he ever wanted, and who didn’t want a burger? What did the world do before Americans invented the burger? It was the only thing you never grow tired of seeing again on your plate. Flat ones, square ones, round thick ones oozing with juice, ordinary drugstore burgers topped with tired lettuce and a ruined slice of tomato, nickel burgers from the buy-‘em-by-the-sack franchises with their regulation pickle circles and emphatic jot of mustard. Burgers. Pare the world down to burgers and women, and most men would be content. As long as you promised variety. Sour cream on the side now and then. A redhead once a year.

But. Sometimes a man wanted higher fare; sometimes you wanted to act the part of a civilized fellow, regardless of what dark thoughts had been stewing in your head as you headed down the rutted roads. A tablecloth instead of a formica pattern designed to hide stains. A table you could cross your legs beneath without worrying whether your knee would stick to someone’s gum. Plates that hadn’t be designed to resist abuse, water glasses not made of cloudy plastic. Heavy menus with a tassel. You wouldn’t want a steady diet of it, but now and again? Sure.