“Are we going out to eat?” was not a phrase my sister or I uttered often or lightly.

But if we came home from school and mom didn’t have supper started, then there was a good chance dad was taking us out for dinner.

My dad pulled his 1952 Chevy pickup into the gravel driveway at 5:30 each weekday. You could set your watch by it. At the red brick house on Beech Street in Ashdown, Arkansas, mom had the biscuits in the oven by 5, and the fried potatoes sitting in the serving bowl by 5:20.

So, if my sister and I saw that neither were complete, we knew we were going out to eat.

In the 1960s, the dad worked, the mom stayed home, and you rarely went out to eat. Budgets were tight and every dollar had to be stretched. The only thing that varied at home was that you might have pork chops or fried chicken instead of chicken fried steak. You always had fried potatoes and biscuits with gravy.

But if you were going out to eat, there were a handful of options: Herb’s Creamland, the Tastee-Freez, or Mac’s Cafe.

I’m not sure if the “the” in the Tastee-Freez was required, but we included it. Just like my grandmother didn’t have a headache, she had, “the headache.” Someone didn’t have diabetes, they had, “the sugar diabetes.”

Which was something you might get if you ate often at the Tastee-Freez or Herb’s Creamland.

But boy, it was worth it.

Ashdown was a small town, so just about everyone was kin. Including Herb. He was my cousin. He made the best hamburger in town.

If we went to Herb’s, my sister and I got the same thing: a Herb Burger combo, which came with crinkle cut fries, a drink, and an ice cream cone.

If we’d been good for mom that week, dad would let us get a chocolate dipped cone.
The Tastee-Freez also had hamburgers, but the usual choice was a chili dog. Something later made famous by John Mellencamp in the song Jack and Diane.

Tastee-Freez also had fries, but instead of a drink or ice cream, we’d always ask for a milkshake. At the time, they offered 100 flavors of shakes. Number 99 was coconut. It tasted so good.

But usually, dad wanted to go to Mac’s Cafe. It was the closest thing to being fine dining Ashdown had. In reality, it was a truck stop.

The same cooks and waitresses worked there my whole life. They knew what you liked and almost didn’t have to come to the table or booth to take an order.

More than anything, I think my dad liked going there so he could shoot the breeze with the waitress. After about five minutes of kidding with each other, she’d write down our order on a small pad, take it to the kitchen window, yell out the order, and then shove the paper into a spinning, chrome wheel that was then twirled around to face the cook.

Mac’s had great everything. Their burgers, sandwiches, and hot plates were all excellent. But hands down, almost everyone’s go-to order was the hot steak sandwich.

The name was misleading, because it wasn’t a sandwich. It was a battered and fried beef cutlet that was placed on top of toast and then smothered in gravy. A small salad sat on one side, and french fries on the other.

You could request the brown gravy be on your fries or not. Some wanted ketchup. Not me. I wanted gravy on everything. Except the salad.

What made the salad at Mac’s great was the dressing. It sat on the table in a squeeze bottle, the same as the ketchup. You knew by the color of what was in the bottles which one was which.

The salad dressing was so good, we used to eat fistfuls of crackers covered in dressing. I didn’t know until years later that the dressing was made in-house with only mayo, ketchup, and some garlic.

Mac’s and Tastee-Freez are long gone in Ashdown. Herb’s is the only one still there and in operation.

When I go back home, I try to stop in for a Herb Burger, fries, and a dip cone.

I wish I could still get a chili dog from the Tastee-Freez or a hot steak sandwich from Mac’s. Over the years, I’m sure my wife has tired of me wishing for both.

I can still taste that hot steak sandwich if I think about it. But I need to take it easy. I don’t think you can get the sugar diabetes from good memories, but I might get the headache trying.

© 2026 John Moore

John’s, “Puns for Groan People” and two volumes about growing up in the South called, “Write of Passage,” are available at TheCountryWriter.com. John would like to hear from you at John@TheCountryWriter.com.