I Do Declare, Ida Claire

"By the Wigs of Cher, Ida Claire"-Jef w/one f

Yesterday I ventured out of my comfort zone (within three miles of downtown) to meet a colleague for lunch at a place she'd suggested called Ida Claire.  It was sort of halfway from her workplace in Oklahoma Far North Dallas and my office, give or take a few hundred miles.  (I giggled like a school boy when I heard the name of the restaurant because as a child, I thought the expression was "Howdy Claire" instead of "I Declare" and my family never corrected me because they thought it was cute.  I also said "Cart Milkon" for "Milk Carton" and "Flutterbies" for "Butterflies." After some time cute became kind of dumb; thankfully my big brother clued me in.)

Ida Claire wasn't really on my radar so I took a peek at its website before venturing up and over and saw that it was Southern Food and had a lot of good reviews. So I'm thinking fried chicken, shrimp and grits, maybe some okra. Pecans, chow chow, sweet tea, you know the drill.

I'd miscalculated the time it would take me to get there and arrived about 30 minutes early so I had plenty of time to case the joint.  The servers posed as small town girls in gingham blouses and jeans sporting jaunty aprons and saucy Aunt Jemima checkered headgear.  The dining room was big and airy and filled with wooden tables stacked with homey Homer Laughlin share plates and cutlery rolled up in dish towels.  There was huge assortment of little tea plates nailed to the wall over the bar, but  there was a kind of eerie display next to where the chirpy hostess had seated me. There were perhaps twenty-five or thirty life-sized, wooden arms sticking out of the wall in precise rows holding different kitchen implements like wire whisks and spatulas in their creepy wooden hands.  I looked away quickly and found a cluster of empty, ornate bird cages hanging from the ceiling on the other side of the room to be a little more pleasant.

I don't think Faulkner wrote this

My server, whose name was either Lauren or Eula-Mae, asked me very nicely if she could bring me some sweet tea while I waited for my guest.  I said I'd prefer tap water and she had to blink back tears when she said she'd fetch me some. The menu looked like an old-fashioned book and had a tagline that said "As I Lay Eating" which made me laugh out loud. I glanced inside  and found Fried Chicken in a Biscuit with a Fried Egg, Pickled Okra and Chow Chow (surprise!), a Fried Chicken and Cucumber salad (huh?) and their apparently famous Ida Like A Burger that had Pimento Cheese, Lettuce and Tomato on a Sweet Potato Bun with Cast Iron Okra Salad (Okay, so I nailed it, sue me.)

The drinks book was a work of art.  It had imaginary love letters, faded post cards, a long and winding tale from a woman whose man had done her wrong, and fun drawings and maps and funky sayings.  I loved it so much I almost stole it.

My guest arrived and sat down breezily.  I noticed she kind of shuddered when she saw the lifeless utensil-holding arms and redirected her gaze to the cheerier birdcages,as I had.   She ordered the Fried Chicken and Cucumber Salad and I ordered the Knife and Fork Chicken Biscuit. We talked about the Texas State Fair, and work, and life, and then a grinning runner brought over our lunch.

Which came first?

That was the largest danged biscuit I ever did see!  It was cut in half and literally dwarfed the plate.  It was crammed with about 4 ounces of fried chicken breast, a roasted tomato, spinach, some peppery gravy and bedecked with a sunny side up fried egg.  My heart missed a beat and I wondered briefly if I'd taken my cholesterol pill that day.  Gamely, I dug in and it was absolutely pure-D Southern deliciousness. The mammoth biscuit was flaky and light and the chicken reminded me of my Aunt Mary's.  Friend had the weird fried chicken and cucumber salad which she enjoyed for about ten minutes until suddenly, she choked, turned red, and grabbed her water glass while tears ran down her cheeks.  I thought perhaps she had been besieged by a slight seizure but she managed to eke out the word "vinegar" in a raspy, struggling-to-breathe whisper.  I half-heartedly offered a tiny Heimlich maneuver, which she silently refused. Eula-Mae seemed a little skittish as she poured her glass after glass of water but managed to murmur comforting words in a sing song voice until my friend could breathe again.

Five minutes later it was like it had never happened.  Sometimes house-made vinaigrette separates and unfortunately she had swallowed a mouthful of vinegar. I yanked a whisk out of one of the mannequin hands and quickly restored her salad to edibility.  I was less than halfway done with my biscuit but had to stop for fear of splitting a seam in my trousers.  The dish was $12 and I think I left $7 worth on the plate even though it was really good.

If it was closer to home I'd go back often, at least on gym or cheat days.  I hear they have a wonderful brunch and a lively bar scene on their expansive back patio. I enjoy my southern heritage and the food (minus the vinegar mishap) was truly outstanding and clearly authentic.  Yes, I will definitely return some day for more of that grub.  And also to steal that book.