Right before I left Boston for Berkeley, I went up to the northern ‘burbs for lunch at Cracker Barrel. No worries, all was well at this northerly outpost. In fact, the okra was much better than at the hip new M3 in Somerville. Read all about it over at The Oxford American:
Yes, Cracker Barrel, home of the “Old Country Store,” that peg game, and giant wooly checkers mats placed perilously close to an equally giant fireplace. It was the “Country Store” half that held the most intrigue for my brother, sister, and me since it contained not only toys and stuffed animals that made noise but also shelves upon shelves of candy wrapped in retro paper. While we waited the inevitable forty-five minutes for a non-smoking table, I ran in circles fraught with indecision. Did I want rock candy, a Moon Pie, or a gigantic cavity-inducing Sugar Daddy for my afternoon treat? What about those weird jelly candies covered in sprinkles? Or how about a box of SnoCaps? The vacillation was enough to give any kid an aneurism, but luckily we were always rescued from certain mental overdrive by the P.A. system announcing that our table was ready….