We’re pulling away at 9:15am and send Susan a text to let her know we’re on the road. Those who know Susan will realise that this was an entirely pointless exercise.
Dallas is the mid-point of our journey and, through the wonders of Google Earth, I’ve identified a suitable place to stop off, just north of the city. We have a very uneventful passage; the Sam Houston statue being the only landmark to break up the monotonous drive.
We discuss routes and decide to skirt around Dallas on the 635, rather than drive the shorter distance directly through the centre on the I-45. We arrive at
Watters Creek, Allen bang on 12:30. The 234 mile journey has taken us 3 hours, 15 minutes and bodes well for our onward trip to Krebs. Not at all confident that Susan will have picked up our earlier text, we phone her to advise her of our whereabouts and to confirm that we’re on target for our dinner date.
We scout out Watters Creek and use the restrooms. This is another swanky lifestyle district; larger than Market Street, I’d say, and laid out in an undulating style – a village feel compared with Market Street’s “Main Street” – but equally trendy and upscale. Almost immediately, I spot a Sunglass Hut and venture inside. I’ve been wanting a new pair of sunglasses for some time. I bought my current pair at Saks, Fifth Avenue in Charleston back in 2005, so I reckon I’m well overdue an upgrade. Surprisingly, Matt concurs. (It might have something to do with my constant griping that, “I’ve been wearing these sunglasses for 5 years, y’know!”) I flirt briefly with the idea of a trendy pair, but we both quickly come to the conclusion that they look ridiculous on me, so I settle for a style much more becoming to my middle years. [Since returning home, my girls have insisted that I should have gone for “trendy” as, apparently, I look ridiculous in my chosen pair. Groaning and eye-rolling were involved when I modelled them.]
Our next stop is Sephora where I pick up the Laura Mercier loose powder I wasn’t able to get yesterday, along with some anti-humidity hairspray. We then make our way towards the eateries, where Brio Tuscan Grill and The Cheesecake Factory are situated next door to one another. We like both, but Matt chooses The Cheesecake Factory. Due to our early dinner engagement, we don't intend to eat here today. We park ourselves at the bar and partake of a Sam Adams and a Lemon Drop, respectively.
We’re away by 2pm having calculated our remaining journey time based on the time it’s taken us thus far. Before rejoining the I-75, we stop for gas. We’re forced to pre-pay as the pump requires a zip code for card payments. Matt guesses at $50 and we’re pleasantly surprised to find it costs just $33 to top up the tank.
This shorter leg of the journey (around 150 miles) turns out to be much more of a trial. We experience several hold-ups due to roadworks and it becomes apparent that we’re going to be late for our 4pm dinner date at Pete’s Place. To make matters worse, having travelled 380 miles without getting lost, we manage to take a wrong turn around 5 miles from our destination. The road suddenly forks into two and, faced with the option of McAlester or Muskogee, we make the split second decision that we must need McAlester. The moment we make the move, we both realise that it’s the wrong choice and have to backtrack, adding a further 5 minutes or so to our journey. We arrive at
Pete’s Place at 4:20pm. Annoying, but in the scheme of things, I guess 20 minutes late following a 5000 mile journey isn’t that bad.
Susan is waiting at the door. Following all the months of planning, it’s almost a surreal moment. After greeting one another warmly, but quickly, she leads us through the reception area to an ante room where Sally and their friends, Ann and Pam, are waiting. (The orginal restaurant
was Pete’s house. The architect who designed the present day restaurant took into account the charm of the old house and the fun of dining in its small rooms, making the new place a warren of small rooms, just like a house. That way, every party still has a private room.)
PIETRO PIEGARI travelled with his family from San Gregorio Magno, Italy, to the coal mining community of Krebs, Oklahoma, in 1903. Three years later the boy officially changed his name to Pete Prichard when he signed on to work in the mines. He was eleven years old.
Pete grew from boy to man in the mines, and was twenty-one when a cave-in almost took his life, crushing one of his legs so badly that he was unable to return to work. Taking any odd jobs he could find, the enterprising young immigrant soon began making and selling Choc beer from his home. The home brew originated in Indian Territory, and the recipe had passed from the Indians in the area to the Italian immigrants.
Soon men began gathering in Pete's home to buy and drink Choc. It seemed a natural progression for Pete to begin fixing food to accommodate the men's appetites. Old timers recall that Pete began his food preparation by fixing lunches for the English, Irish, Scottish, Welsh and Italians who swarmed into the area to work jobs available in the rich coal mines.
In 1925, Pete officially open a restaurant in his home. His customers were accustomed to going to "Pete's Place," so the name, too, was a natural evolution. The menu included homemade spaghetti, meatballs, ravioli, sausage, and other Italian dishes served family style, along with the Choc beer which was soon outlawed by the federal prohibition act. Eventually, Pete expanded his menu, adding salad, lamb fries, veal, chicken and steak. And he began making a red wine, an appropriate beverage for his Italian dishes. The wine, like the Choc, was also a violation of federal law.
Old timers recall that in the late nineteen thirties and forties, when Japanese Americans were interned during World War II, first generation citizens from nations like Germany and Italy, countries which were America's enemies at the time, were not allowed to have weapons in their possession. During that period, Pete had a new challenge: operating an eating establishment with no knives.
Other old timers in the area recall that for several years, Pete provided a special reward to those who attended Christmas mass. As they came from church after the midnight service, Pete opened his restaurant to serve supper.
In 1964, after Pete turned operation of the restaurant over to his son, Bill, the man who began Pete's Place continued to make ravioli by hand every day to feed an ever-increasing clientele, which included U.S. senators, governors, congressmen, legislators, sports and movie stars, and celebrities from every field, many of whom sampled the still-illegal home-brewed beer and wine.
In 1984, Bill and Catherine Prichard turned the business to the next generation of Prichards: Joe and Kathy, who continue to operate the restaurant today.
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Much merriment ensues. The ladies are such good fun and our servers are charming. Angie has a trainee with her (or “learner” as she says). Salad is already on the table when we arrive – dressed lettuce, smoked cheese, pickled chilli peppers and garlic bread.
Susan and Sally present us with a gift of a Jim Shore piece,
Howdy Pardner. It's appropriate in so many ways - the Disney connection being the obvious one.
Sally has also brought a selection of the jeans bags made by their mother and her companion, Darla, a couple of years ago. All the sewing was done by Darla as Mother was blind by that time.
[Mother died last September at the age of 93. She was an energetic and creative person, so it was especially amazing that she managed to endure almost complete immobility with grace and humour. Darla was Mother's caregiver who faithfully helped Susan and Sally for years and kept Mother laughing through what could have been bleak and frightening days. Darla has become so much more than even a friend to Susan and Sally – she’s family. She loved Mother, and Mother loved her. Having met her – more in a later report – it’s not difficult to see why.] I’m to choose one to use on our Route 66 excursions (as is Susan), where the idea is that we will use them to carry booklets and pamphlets we pick up along the way, as well as to attach any pins we collect (thus creating unique keepsakes).
Susan has repeatedly assured us that, as Brits, we’ll be celebrities in Oklahoma and we’re immediately introduced to such adulation here at Pete’s Place. Our server, Angie, keeps popping her head around the door to listen to our accents. According to her, we sound as though we’ve stepped right out of
Harry Potter. Back home, our Gloucestershire accents are more likely to be the subject of amusement, so we bask in the plaudits whilst we’re able.
We order our entrees. Sirloin (Susan, Pam and Ann – I think), Chicken (Sally) Fried Chicken (Matt) and Lamb Fries (me). All orders are served family style with spaghetti Bolognese, ravioli and meatballs. There’s enough to feed a small country! As a fan of offal, I’ve been looking forward to trying the lamb fries. They’ve been pounded, breaded and fried, but they don’t really taste of anything other than the fried coating.
[We don’'t have any photographic evidence as we were way too busy talking.]
Pete’s Place doesn’t set the world alight as far as food is concerned, but, as Susan points out, it’s all about retaining a culinary heritage.
Speaking for myself only here, I think it seems very ordinary [sic] because I've gotten so used to basic recipes for perennial menu items like spaghetti and ravioli being ramped up with fusion influences--spices and chiles from other cuisines that have crossed over and I no longer think of it as odd to see a "hot" Alfredo sauce on a menu. In that context, though I can certainly like newer tastes better, I think I need to remember that Pete's is about retaining a heritage. Foodies respect Slow Food. How about Historic Food? I've never read or heard the term, but it certainly might exist. If it doesn't, we need to start. Whether it's that we have jaded taste buds or just a curiosity for something different or maybe it's that chefs are trying to make their own mark on cuisine, I think it's almost a shock to find food like Pete's that's been prepared with the same recipes for 85 years. We talked more than once about stumbling across time capsules on our trek. I think the term applies to Pete's kitchen.
For us, it’s certainly about so much more than the food. The heritage doesn’t go unnoticed and, significantly, it’s the moment, after months of planning, that we finally get to lay eyes on one another.
We have some photos taken in the lobby and Matt buys some Choc beer. The Choc Brewery, attached, pre-dates the restaurant and we’ve spoken with our servers about taking a tour after our meal, but, in the event, we’re beginning to flag and we still have a fair journey before reaching Susan’s home in Tulsa.
) artwork from the Contemporary.
