Chicken-fried steak and doctors

Today is National Chicken-fried Steak Day. What? You missed it? I used to know a man who insisted that the word steak was redundant. All you had to say, he claimed, was “Chicken-fried.” I always wondered what would happen if he ordered that way at my favorite Star Café and they brought him chicken-fried chicken.

There’s a local Facebook page that features memories of Fort Worth, and today someone asked about favorite chicken-fried steak. The trouble with that question is twofold: it rolls around so often, it’s repetitive. Seems to me we just listed our favorites. And by far the most votes go to Mary’s Café in Strawn—a bit of a drive from Fort Worth and today one woman said she had the toughest piece of meat ever there. But the other winner is always Massey’s, a beloved down-home restaurant that has been out of business for at least fifteen years. What’s the sense of naming that? It doesn’t tell us where to go today for good CFS. As an aside, on Fridays Massey’s used to serve salmon patties, and I loved them.

As for CFS, my favorite is the Star Café, and Fort Worth Star-Telegram writer and food critic Bud Kennedy always rates it highly. Yes, of course I’m prejudiced—good friends own it. But it is still the most mouth-watering, tender CFS. The breading sticks to the meat, and the gravy has legs. Try it sometime. Individually battered, not frozen, pre-cut pieces of meat. All fresh and all good.

Otherwise today was a doctor day. I had an 11:00 appointment with the cornea specialist who claimed, way back in January, that I would have to have cornea replacement surgery after my surgery to fish out the wandering lens. But my vision has been so good, I was prepared to stand my ground and say no more surgery. I needn’t have bothered. She practically did a happy dance over the improvement of my eyes, said I probably only need over-the-counter readers. My vision is 20/40 in both eyes. Hooray! The surgeon dismissed me to go back to my regular eye doctor and I feel like a great burden has been lifted.

Poor Jordan did not fare so well in the doctor’s office. She has a stomach bug for which they gave her medications and recommended isolation. Poor Christian said, “But I’ve already kissed her this morning.” Last I heard tonight she does not feel a whole lot better. And the worst of it is that this weekend is her 25^th high school reunion. They were to go to the football game tonight and a dinner tomorrow night. I am really sorry for her—and hoping none of the rest of us get it. I hesitate to check on her because I don’t want to wake her.

Beautiful weather coming this weekend—in the low 80s and sunny. Just perfect. Enjoy!

A good news day

Going to the ophthalmologist can cut the core out of a day. First you wait for the to dilate your eyes; then you wait so long to see the doctor that you’re sure the dilation has expired. Then you see the doctor for five minutes, and you’ve spent two hours in that office, two hours during which you can barely even read. I’ve been doing that once a month for a while now, and it gets frustrating.

But I have to say today was totally worth it! Every second! The vision in the eye that has had surgery is now a respectable 20/50; the swelling is gone; and the doctor practically did a happy dance around the exam room, he was so pleased. He prescribed drops to maintain the recovery; he advised against any investment in good glasses or sunglasses at this point and said to get drugstore reading glasses. And here’s the biggie: I was told beforehand the cornea probably wouldn’t survive the surgery. Today he said it seems to be fine; if there was damage, I wouldn’t have the good vision that I have. I’m doing the happy dance myself.

And in the doctor’s defense, his morning started with an emergency surgery, which threw him behind. Coming from a medical background, I understand that. And he apologized when he came in to the exam room.

But I didn’t get any work done today, not a lick. Jean drove me to the doctor’s office before she headed for an appointment of her own. Jordan said she had a noon meeting; Christian had appointments at 11:30 and 12:30; I had visions of being stuck in the doctor’s office all day—and they wouldn’t have fed me lunch. As it happened, Jean finished her appointment about when I did—noon—and she came and picked me up.

We were hungry, so we went to Carshon’s. A woman Jean knew came up to talk, Jean introduced me, and guess what the woman said: “Judy Alter, the author?” Jean and I both gave hearty thumbs up. Made my day.

But the uncertainty of the morning, the long wait, plus an early wake-up call made me tired, so of course I checked emails, dealt with some busy details, and went to sleep. And woke up just in time to go to happy hour with good friend Subie. We went to a new wine bar at Clearfork we’d been wanting to try—Cru—and enjoyed it thoroughly, lingered over good wine, charcuteries and a salad. We kept glancing at the dessert the people next to us had but restrained ourselves.

So here I am tonight, too tired to dig in and work, but my Protestant work ethic is bothering me. Ah, well, tomorrow is another day.

Happy May Day everyone.