My Husband’s Restaurant Choices

Photographer - Tobi Brun

My Husband’s Restaurant Choices

Our first date was at Chili’s, a nice chain restaurant in Starkville, Mississippi, not far from our town of West Point. I remember that my husband didn’t say much, so I didn’t say much
either. We had a good meal and even shared a chocolate brownie with ice cream for dessert. I had a nice time. I thought we got along well, and enjoyed each other’s company, even though we
didn’t talk much, when on dining dates. But somehow, after we got married, the restaurants we frequented became less and less familiar to me, further and further away, and more and more like country buffets and soul food, with less ambiance, no style, American Flags, Elvis statues, and old Mississippi flags with the confederate symbol still on them.

What happened?

For Jimmy’s birthday I was invited to eat at a steakhouse in Columbus, Mississippi with some of his family. He chose a few family members to join him for his birthday meal. We went to Old Hickory Steakhouse. This is where he gets his favorite steak. The best steak anywhere around. The best steak ever made. I realized after a while, that Jimmy’s going out to eat had nothing to do with the
restaurant. It was all about the food. And when he got a hankering for a certain food, he would not sit still until we were on our way to go and get that food, everything else be damned. When
he got a craving for catfish, we would either go to Pheba’s Diner, out past our house, or all the way out near Aberdeen, Mississippi to The Friendship House. And Jimmy never talked to me
when we dined out. He just ate. He would ask me where I wanted to eat. I would answer with some really tasteful restaurant that had atmosphere and Pinot Grigio for me to drink and relax, back when I drank alcohol. Then he would suggest a new restaurant that he wanted to try out, way out somewhere, and the question of where I wanted to eat was just a formality. I would go, even though I dreaded the experience, and the food. It became interesting to me to see how these places were built and to see their decor. Outside there was usually a lot of metal siding. Inside, there was wood. Lots of wood paneling. Some of these restaurants were in huge tin warehouses, or small buffets with soul food. There were wagon wheels and signs on the walls with sayings like,

“Welcome, Y’all!”

I was deflated a bit each time we went to one of his restaurants. It chipped away at my soul and didn’t help our marriage. Jimmy would eat and eat and would not speak. I grew weary of this and we finally started eating at places we could both enjoy. The new Longhorn Steakhouse in Columbus was one, with its cattle motif. We ate often at Little Dooey’s in Starkville, which is a hodgepodge of signs and framed photographs and rooms with tables and chairs, added on, but the food was really, really good. And Mexican restaurants were fair game. As the years went by, I coaxed Jimmy to talk some as he ate, to notice the interiors of the restaurants, and to allow me to eat at restaurants of my choosing. I became vegan, so steakhouses were no longer an option unless they had salads. Now when Jimmy gets the sudden desire to go eat at one of his faraway restaurants or a new restaurant that he wants to try out, he asks his family members to go with him. I simply do not go. I reached my limit.

After twelve years of marriage, many years of cooking deer steaks and cornbread at home, and traveling to remote locales to try out a buffet with steak and fried everything, including frog legs, I know what Jimmy likes in a restaurant, and he knows what I like. I stopped cooking for him after a while, and now we get groceries for meals that we can prepare together. He has learned to speak with me when we have lunch or dinner. But he has a few manners that need changing. He will talk with his mouth full, he wipes his nose and mouth with a napkin and doesn’t fold the napkin over, and leaves it on the table, and the worst part of all that I’ve had to get accustomed to, is that he eats like a prisoner. Yes, he hovers over his plate with his elbows or arms on the table on either side of his plate, and he doesn’t hold his fork properly. He shovels it all in quickly, while having to have a piece of bread or cornbread in his left hand the entire time, from which to take a bite, in between feeding his face. I’m sorry, reader, for speaking this way about my husband, but this is so pronounced that I cannot let this go unsaid. I finally learned that the reason he eats this way is because he grew up in a large family with eight siblings. And out of habit. I cannot change this about him. Believe me, I’ve tried. Jimmy was diagnosed with microscopic colitis and celiac disease and was supposed to eat gluten free. He went through a spell when his digestive system was acting up, which doesn’t happen much now, and once, after we ate at La Fiesta Bravo in town, we left the restaurant and he vomited right in front of the restaurant where he was clearly visible to everyone on the highway and many people coming from and going in the restaurant. This was horrible. I felt
terrible for him but we laughed about it wondering what the wait staff at the restaurant must have thought, or the customers—that the food must have been really bad. What an embarrassing thing
to happen, to regurgitate out front. This happened on at least three occasions, which was not a good advertisement for their restaurant.

We dine out quite often now, and we have learned to tolerate many things from each other. Now I care more about the food than before, noticing my own cravings and hunger. We
talk a lot, and Jimmy cares more about the type of establishment in which we dine. I watch his eating habits which have not changed. But Jimmy eats more healthily—more salads and
vegetables. We eat in Starkville quite often, and much to my disdain, we sometimes eat at the Friendship House where the food is good, but the people and atmosphere are foreign to me. Jimmy likes the catfish at The Ritz’s Magnolia Restaurant downtown, thank goodness, because I see people I know, when we dine there sometimes. And as our relationship has improved, Jimmy is eating healthier.

I love to visit Jimmy’s sister and brother-in-law on the Coast. We have our favorite places to go for good seafood. We went to a restaurant called Parish. That’s Paris with an “h.” It was expensive. The food was great, I had a lot in common with the waitress who was an artist, and we drank a lot of wine and beer. And we laughed. We laughed so much it hurt. We had so much fun. As we were leaving we noticed a lounge in the restaurant. We looked in and decided to sit in the lounge to continue our evening there. We ordered dessert drinks. We laughed again non-stop, and had the best time. It was a night I’ll never forget. We have dined out at the ——Oyster, and several other great restaurants, including Commander’s Palace, in New Orleans where our niece
lives. We ate at Lebanon's quite often, and we recently found a great Thai restaurant, Pomelo. Every dining out experience is different with Jimmy. I think I’ve raised the bar a bit for his restaurant selections now. He likes Taste, a really chic restaurant in Starkville, Mississippi, and several other places that seem posh compared to what we were used to. I don’t drink alcohol anymore so that cuts down on the total cost. I like to see Jimmy enjoying his meals. He has become more aware of his surroundings and he likes most of the places I like, which is an achievement on my part. I know we will continue to dine out and hope that our experiences will become more enjoyable.

Jimmy has recently started speaking even more to me during our meals. This is a historic achievement. But he still lacks table manners which may never change, but I am hopeful. I know
one thing: Dining out with Jimmy is never boring. And that makes up for any of his lack of restaurant refinement.

Jane Dill is an emerging writer from Mississippi. She has an MFA in Creative Writing, an MA in French, and a BA in Fine Arts. She travels often to Paris.