Fellow food enthusiasts: we can all scream a heartfelt “much obliged” to Team Herald-Leader for its periodic bulletins on bistros and bars bound for Ol’ Kentuck.
But who will keep us apprised of the many hash houses, food holes, corn halls and grub grabs that aren’t on the way? Allow me:
▪ It’s “starch madness” all year ‘round at Three Potato Four, not coming to Fayette Mall at any point this millennium. So look elsewhere for French-fried potato salad au gratin, one giant fry, and 3P4’s signature item: tater tot-flecked mashed potato fritters.
▪ Hopefully, you don’t have a hankering for the Silver Spur Steakhouse, the bona fide Western-style eating trough based in one of those rectangle-looking states. You won’t be able to mosey by the all-you-can-stomach salad bar. You won’t have a chance to lasso up a marginal-grade beefsteak, served by a waitress gussied up like a prairie dog. So say “yee-haw!” to flavor somewhere else, partner.
▪ Hit the road, Jack, if you want to stop by The Applesaucery, famous for 107 different varieties (from Golden Delicious to Granny Smith) of humankind’s favorite semi-solid fruit paste.
▪ Thanks to the always-powerful biscuit lobby, we will not be getting an International French Toast Palace.
▪ Forget the 1950s! Turn the clock back another 20 years, and you have The Dust Bowl Grille, the 1930s nostalgia-based soup kitchen that isn’t in Lexington’s future. A few minutes in the daily breadline, and in no time, you’ll be humming “Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?” This place put the “great” in “Great Depression!”
▪ The board of health said “no dice” to Ed Gunkel’s Food Consumption Area. So find your own hobo stew, imitation gruel and produce damaged in transit.
▪ You might question the fiduciary prospects of a fast-food joint based on America’s 183rd favorite lunch-meat. And you’d be right. Hence, no local investors for Olive Oyl’s Olive Loaf Loft.
▪ If you like serve-yourself buffets, you would love YOYO (You’re On Your Own) if one was headed to Lexington. If you do stumble into one, in some far-flung journey beyond the Bluegrass, prepare to cook your own chow, bus your own table, and wash your own dishes. And while you’re at it, maybe bring in your own groceries. In fact, your best bet might be eating at home, then mailing ’em a check.
▪ An actual gravy train arrives twice daily at Lottsen Lottsa Food, a favorite among advanced-level eaters who dig donning the full-body bib and ranch-dressing dispenser cap.
▪ Zoning laws preclude locating one in Fayette County, but if that ever changes, you’ll soon be packing away a piping-hot Bushel O’Fries and a 72-ounce bacon-infused ham medley — with the peace of mind you get knowing each table has its own portable defibrillator. You’ll shout “bon appétit” – unsuccessfully – since you’re simultaneously shoveling mass quantities of popcorn shrimp through your own oral ingestion funnel.
▪ You’re right to be enraged by the absence of Oaty McFiber’s Hot & Edible Oatmealmobile on the bustling boulevards of our fair city.· You’ll yell “strike up the bland” if you ever unwittingly end up inside a False Alarm Chili, home of New Hampshire-style shredded beef slathered in your choice of medium, mild, or super mild pulverized tomato goo.
▪ You’ll yell “strike up the bland” if you ever unwittingly end up inside a False Alarm Chili, home of New Hampshire-style shredded beef slathered in your choice of medium, mild or super mild pulverized tomato goo.
▪ Every day is “hump day” at Feels Like A Wednesday, the moderately-priced family food chute boasting a décor that suggests Fred Sanford’s living room. Too bad you won’t be able to gorge yourself on a heaping plateful of Funyun-encased rutabaga poppers, while gazing upon a wall-mounted French horn, an incomplete set of USFL pennants, and a picture of Martin Van Buren.
And we’re also not getting a Cool Beans, a Make Mine Michigan, an All Things Utah, Sir Francis Bacon’s, or a Major Smathers’ Indiana-Style Bologna Sandwich Silo. So make other plans. Or go to Louisville.
Toby Gibbs of Lexington is a community columnist.