Hops and Hens and lunches (oh my)

So last time I had us marooned at the bus station in Dallas. Which was not a fun place to be. For anyone. Or anything. Heck. Even the AI chatbot on my cellphone was trying to make a break for it.

Anyway, we next needed to get lunch. Martha found an appealing sounding restaurant on her phone--Cindi’s New York Deli (https://cindisnydeli.com/). It was near us, right downtown, and the pictures on the webpage looked great. Plus, of course, anything that says East Coast gets Martha’s attention. So, I found a taxi out front, loaded up all our luggage and all our passengers, and off we went.

We were about half way there when suddenly...oh-so-suddenly...with a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach (a deep and dark place at the best of times)...I had a THOUGHT. Always a dangerous thing. But...I turned to Martha. She and Judy were in the back seat. I was riding shotgun with the driver. “Say,” I said, shuddering delicately, “when you found that restaurant, did you happen to notice whether it was open after two o’clock on Saturdays?”

She gave me a look that started in pure terror and ended with a skidding stop into panic. She checked her phone quickly. “It...is...NOT,” she said, finally, between clenched teeth. The downtown branch of Cindi’s closes at 2pm on Saturdays, and it was now 2:40.

Ouch.

Okay, back to the phones. I don’t remember who found it, but someone discovered Hops and Hens at the Omni Dallas Hotel (https://www.omnihotels.com/hotels/dallas/dining/restaurants-on-lamar/hops-and-hens#). “There,” I said, and asked the driver (who was, bless him! flexible) for a mid-course correction. A moment later, we were unloading again, this time outside the restaurant, which is right across the street from the hotel. We wheeled our luggage and ourselves inside.

It was a large, airy place with multiple tables. We selected one, got Judy seated, and then I went and found paper menus. We examined them. Turns out that the restaurant (as you’d expect), offers several varieties of chicken and different kinds of craft beers.

It is kind of hard to describe exactly what kind of food they serve. Basically, it’s mostly fried chicken, but boneless. Think a vastly upscaled, adult-version of a Chicken McNugget. Except it’s really, really good. And it is really, uh, chicken. Which sometimes isn’t so clear with fast food. I mean, Really.

First, a wall hanging with Hops & Hens distinctive logo. Well worth a visit. Second, my salad with fried chicken. Like I say, quite good. Give it a shot sometime. And, third, the front of the Omni Dallas Hotel, which was right next door. In retrospect, I should have simply waltzed across the street, rented us rooms, and continued our trip in the morning. But, as I will explain in greater (and painful) detail later on, by that time we just couldn’t seem to get deflected. Then, finally, a real life shot of me a few hours after our departure from Dallas. This is, yes, what is known in the trade as foreshadowing. Sigh.

They also offer a fried chicken sandwich, which I was tempted to get, but didn’t, and salads. We all decided on Cobb salads with chicken. Martha and Judy had theirs with grilled chicken. I, however, given that my cardiologist was nowhere to be seen, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, decided mine would be with *fried* chicken.

We left Judy at the table and went to the desk to order. There, a very personable youngish woman greeted us. I said that this was our first time in the place so “forgive me for any dumb shit questions I ask.” She laughed. Then she looked left. Then she looked right. She made sure no one was listening. Then she leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry. All we worry about here is chicken shit.” I was relieved. I’d found a restaurant that was on my own disreputable level.

We ordered. The salads came a few minutes later. We ate hungrily. It was good. I mean, really good. As in GOOD. So, next time you’re in Dallas, give it a try.

We finished up. Martha, meanwhile, was back on her phone. “God it!” she said. She’d managed to cancel the rental car we’d scheduled to pick up in Wichita and reschedule one here in Dallas. She’d picked Hertz because we’d always had good luck with Hertz, and because we always got the AAA discount from Hertz. She is a Scottish girl, after all. (In case, you’re wondering, this, too, is foreshadowing. More on that later.) Anyway, we had to pick up the car near the airport.

Fine. I called up Uber and arranged for a car to meet us out front. So, we thought, things were looking up. We’d had a really good meal, plus we’d discovered a fun restaurant, and now we had a car. At last...we told ourselves... things we’re going our way. All downhill from here, we thought. Smooth sailing from here on, we said. The curse was reversed, we decided.

You have, of course, picked up the subtext here. You’re not stupid. You see it coming.

But, suffice to say, that even we...even the three of us...with a Ph.D. (Martha’s) and five Master’s degrees between us...

Had no idea how wrong we could be.

More to come.

***

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