Throwed, Not Thrown
Posted on March 30, 2009
Filed Under Food | 2 Comments
Posted by Daria
Thwuck!
—The sound of a roll hitting Stan’s forehead
The boy crying, “Hot rolls!” was aiming for Sierra’s outstretched hands but tossed it a little low. That’s what Stan got for trying to shoot a picture.
Some of you probably know where this event took place. For those who don’t, let me tell you about Lambert’s Cafe.
Lambert’s is actually three cafes, located in Sikeston, Missouri; Foley, Alabama; and Ozark, Missouri. We were at the Ozark one. When we arrived at 4 p.m. on a Saturday, the wait was an hour and a half. We waited, because we knew it was worth it.
Stan and I had visited the Sikeston Lambert’s off and on over the years, on our way to New Orleans or Mississippi or Memphis. But Sierra had never been and had heard about it, so she added it to her list of must-visits to replace Weeki Wachee (which we missed due to a dead battery and foul weather).
Lambert’s decor evokes Americana in all its glory. The wooden walls are lined with license plates and repro advertising signs, and flags of the Armed Forces, United States, and individual states hang from the ceiling. Oldies, country songs, and classic rock play on the stereo system.
The tables turned rapidly, but huge parties, including a medal-adorned dance team, had to be seated before we could be. People in winter coats crammed together like feedlot cattle in the waiting area. Diners-to-be absorbed the menu, wondering what okra was (“like Brussels sprouts,” stated one poorly informed gentleman), keeping up with the others in their party via cellphone (“An old woman is invading my space,” texted the girl sitting next to me, as the woman hovering over her read the menu aloud to her husband ["Hamburger steak ... oh, they have corn! ... there's ribs!"]).
An hour and 10 minutes after our arrival, we were seated in a wooden booth with a roll of paper towel napkins on the table. Lightning-quick, our friendly, twangy server was upon us to take drink and food orders. The complimentary pass-arounds started—fried okra, macaroni and tomatoes, black-eyed peas, fried potatoes with onions. And of course, the hot “throwed” rolls, which made Lambert’s internationally famous. The late Norm Lambert, son of the founders, was the first to throw a roll, and the gimmick proved so successful that it drew and continues to draw huge crowds. (For the whole Lambert’s story, visit www.throwedrolls.com).
On the first round of rolls, Stan went for a high one but knocked it onto the floor. He caught one during Round 2, then was smacked by Sierra’s. The thrower asked Stan if he was OK, and Stan said yes and added the roll to the list of things that have hit him on the head during this trip (along with Moon Pies, Mardi Gras beads, and Sierra’s bed). In subsequent rounds, Sierra asked for two more rolls, both of which were thrown high enough to bounce off the wall and knock stuff down on our table. I think the pitcher was making sure he didn’t hit Stan again.
For entrees, Stan had liver and onions, Sierra had meat loaf, and I had the four-vegetable plate, which sounds healthy until you consider that three of the four were sweets: candied yams, fried apples, and pineapple-walnut salad made with whipped topping. (The fourth was the savory turnip greens). S & S both got vegetables on the side, too. By the time we left, I could no longer look at food, and even the sight of another restaurant’s sign made me queasy. Bottomless Pit Sierra said she wouldn’t be able to eat for “at least 15 minutes.”
Lambert’s is the kind of place you should bring foreign visitors to, to show them what Americans are really like. Fat and happy, eating until we groan, drinking our 34-ounce soft drinks from refillable mugs—and waiting an hour and a half for the right to do so.
Comments
2 Responses to “Throwed, Not Thrown”
Leave a Reply
BREAD! BREAD! They throw BREAD at you! This is definitely my kind of place. I don’t think I would make it past them just throwing the bread at me, and if it was warm, oh boy! I’d be in Heaven. Again you guys have made me hungry. I should never visit the website after dinner. Sound like your having a great time. Next stop Texas? Post the Pictures for me to see. Drive safe.
Love ya Aunt Barb
On a recent trip out west we visited Cody, WO where a lady friend back home said we must visit the restuarant where they throw bread at you. She said it was in Cody, WO. After touring the Cody
Museum I asked the information desk where the restaurant was where the throw bread at you. She
looked startled, her eyes got big and she asked
me again what I wanted. I repeated my question,
(It must have been my southern drawl)
She then said she thought I had asked where the
restroom was where they throw bread at you.
Getting no help from her I then went to the Chamber of Commerce where I asked the same question. The lady there said she had lived in Cody all her life and she had never had bread
thrown at her.
By then I knew I was in the wrong place. So, I went outside and called my friend back in North Carolina, got her husband, where he said the
restaurant was in Missouri! I felt like a fool
and went back in the Chamber of Commerce and told them where the restaurant really was. I can still hear the ladies laughing as I drove out of sight. Some day my wife and I want to visit the Real McCoy.