Looks as though RJA's kids might be monkeys after all.
16 South Second Street
Kristy went back to work yesterday and the three older kids start school next week, which means I’m stuck with them this week. But you can read more about that disaster over at Urf! I’m here to tell you about the mistake of taking them to work with me yesterday and inflicting them on the unsuspecting patrons of Elliot’s Restaurant in beautiful Downtown Memphis. I’m not really going to spend a lot of time on the food at Elliot’s because Elliot’s is what it is – a hamburger joint. Don’t get me wrong, it’s the best hamburger joint Downtown and, yes, I’ve been to McHuey’s plenty of times. Elliot’s is consistent and Harry, who many of you may remember from the Kwik-Chek on Madison (yes, that Harry) is a friend of mine who will occasionally prepare items for me that aren’t on the menu, like crab rangoon, or grilled chicken sandwiches with a special New Mexico chile sauce that another customer brought him, or a burger on Texas toast with same chile sauce. He also has some sandwiches on his menu reminiscent of the Kwik-Chek, like my favorite, the Santa Fe (I always get it with an Orange Crush) wrap, and the Miss Dixie chicken sandwich or the Rigonati, though I forget now what’s on that or how to even spell it. It’s all delicious, so support Harry, won’t you? He’s good people.
Anyway, this day I got a smoked cheddar cheeseburger with everything on it, though I forgot to ask for everything on it, so I got a cheeseburger and had to dress it myself, which isn’t a big deal. C got a burger with nothing on it because that’s as fancy as C gets. For JP and S, fries. Just French fries, though they were the big steak fries, if that improves my poor parenting at all. Aunt Elizabeth went with us and I’m pretty sure she got a cheeseburger as well. Beverages: Orange Crush, lemonade, Sprite, apple juice, Diet Coke.
These kids were an anomaly in Elliot’s with its suited clientele from Guardsmark, First Tennessee and Sun Trust Bank. The atmosphere is in no way fancy, more of a very large diner, so maybe the suited ones are the anomalies. Nevertheless, my kids did not disappoint and used the booth and brass handrail that runs the length of the space, and sections off the ordering line, as their very own playground. They pinched and pulled, punched and yelled, all the while diving underneath the table and the handrail. I, as usual, implored them to stop and eat, because, naturally, I’m concerned for their nutrition. My entreaties fell on deaf ears. Finally, to get her attention, I poked (I did not stab) S with a plastic (not a metal) fork to get her attention. What I expected was a surprised, wide-eyed stare that would give me enough of a window of silence to ask her to behave. What I got was a scream: “You poked me with a fork!” And then I crossed what may have been another moral line and blamed it on her brother. But then Harry brought out some fried peaches (not on the menu), which Elizabeth and I shared, and which we both agreed could have been really good coming from another grill, but as it was they tasted like burger.
I rounded up the kids and marched them back up Second Street and across Madison (Elizabeth scooped up S as a trolley was approaching. Who let her wear flip-flops Downtown?) and back to work, where they had chocolate milk and cookies to complement their fries.