One Eleven Grill, Madison FL *

Edna Earl’s hopes literally soared when she spied this inviting looking little café occupying a space in a row of historic buildings near the courthouse square in lovely downtown Madison, Florida. Yes, indeed, the café’s front door was most welcoming –
flanked by an ample arrangement of healthy potted plants, shaded by a bright awning, augmented by attractive red-checkered café curtains in the large windows on either side of the door itself. Once Edna Earl entered the place, though, her hopes faltered just a tad when she was struck by the thought that maybe somebody had tried a little too hard on the interior décor. Two HUGE new sofas faced each other smack dab in the middle of the dining room. The paint job on the plaster walls had endured a little too much attention (think “faux something”) and the art collection – well, EE was just relieved that there wasn’t much of it. Then, after EE was seated and got a glance at the menu, she knew she was in trouble. Quiche, salads, a few sandwiches, a burger, chicken pot pie. Now, anybody who knows Edna Earl knows that she LOVES a good quiche, a good sandwich, a good salad, a good chicken pot pie – and she’s even tolerant of a good burger. But Edna Earl’s concern over this café’s menu was in the details. Here’s an example: “pecan encrusted chicken salad with bleu cheese crumbles and apple slices and choice of curry or blueberry dressing.” Edna Earl’s assessment: Yuppieville. Last year’s “upscale.” Correction: Last decade’s “upscale.” Tired. Old. And, you know what? It wadn’t good then, and it ain’t good now. Edna Earl never ceases to be surprised at “chefs” who think that words are more important than food. Do they really think that because those words – pecans, chicken, lettuce, bleu cheese, apples, curry, blueberry, encrusted – sound good together that they’ll taste good together?

Well, guess what? They didn’t. That “pecan encrusted chicken salad” is, indeed, what Edna Earl wound up ordering, because the grilled grouper sandwich she first ordered turned out not to be available. Edna Earl’s husband, Earl Jenkins, ordered the chicken pot pie. Bad mistake. Edna Earl doesn’t know of any other way to put it except to say that that chicken pot pie simply did not taste good. Earl encouraged Edna to taste his pie, and EE concluded that the pie was missing an ingredient or two, but at the same time she decided that it contained an ingredient that didn’t belong. (Garlic? In a chicken pot pie? Please!)

Neither Edna Earl nor Earl cleaned his or her plate – which oughta tell ya somethin’.

EE and E did like the fact that some attention had been put into the serving dishes themselves. The chicken pot pie was served in this neat little bowl and saucer – and the crust looked good (a fact that is completely beside the point since in the taste department it fell far short).

Lastly, Edna Earl can’t leave this post without saying something about “Miss Jackie,” the woman who appeared to be in charge of this place. (Owner/chef, perhaps?) Early on in their One Eleven Grill experience EE and E had noticed that the sweet little girl who had seated them and served their beverages seemed to be intimidated by “Miss Jackie.” It was, indeed, because the sweet little girl referred to “Miss Jackie” several times that EE and E even knew “Miss Jackie’s” name. “Miss Jackie” was none too friendly when later she took the Jenkins’ order, but she completely did herself in when, after the meal was finally over, after Earl handed her the cash for the tab, “Miss Jackie” failed to mutter even so much as a thank-you.

Edna Earl has thought long and hard and decided that the best thing about One Eleven Grill is its façade – and the second best thing is the fact that there’s this very neat little independent bookstore about two doors down.

Suffice it to say that Edna Earl and Earl won’t waste any more of their valuable time at the One Eleven Grill in Madison, Florida. And you might not want to, either.

You get one star, One Eleven Grill, for your front door.

The Owl, Apalachicola, Florida *

What a crock. Overpriced food, rude waiter. There were seven in Edna Earl's party, and not one reported having liked the food. There was this appetizer that -- well, yuck. GREASY comes as close to describing it as Edna Earl will venture. Three in EE's party tasted the thing and then left it alone for the rest of the evening. Edna Earl didn't particularly like the physical place, either. It felt dark and closed in. Maybe it was where Edna Earl's party was seated (upstairs), but it just was not a pleasant place. EE had heard that The Owl was good, but boy were she and her friends disappointed. EE hopes she hit it on a bad night. But, it was so bad that she doesn't know that I'll go again.

Whole Foods, Union Square, Manhattan *

WHAT a disappointment. My buddy had told me how much fun he had loading up a tray and going upstairs to sit at the window and look out at the Union Square Park action while he ate his fresh food. My own experience, though, was nothing like that. Maybe it was partly because I was there at a very busy time, but it appeared to me to maybe be a place that's busy ALL the time. It's a big grocery store, complete with long check-out lines, where, after you've visited several of those "all you can load" food troughs you stand in line for a while, finally check out, and FINALLY take your loaded tray upstairs and fight for a place at communal tables. The utensils are all plastic, of course, which makes for a little difficulty with a salad. (I despise plastic utensils -- a pet peeve, I admit, but a sensible one.) The food itself looked "limp" to me -- as if it'd been in the trough for a while -- and nothing I ate tasted very good. Bottom line: The food in those troughs just looked a little too breathed on, coughed toward .... for me. And then to have to walk all over the store with it, and stand in line with it ... and then I wound up paying twelve bucks for a skimpy salad. No thanks. The place seems to me to be more of a fad than anything. There were lots of teenagers in there, probably thinking that they're contributing to the salvation of the universe by eating at a place called "Whole Foods."

Foscue House, Demopolis, Alabama * (and even one star is a stretch)

So my ol' man and I were driving across Alabama and it got to be lunchtime. We stopped at Foscue House in Demopolis to eat Sunday dinner. Big mistake. The building is very interesting -- built in 1840 -- but the food was downright awful. For $6.99 you got a choice of one meat (from among three offerings), two "vegetables," iced tea, and choice of cornbread or "roll." Dessert was extra at $1.50. The meat offerings were fried chicken, baked chicken and one other we can't remember. The "vegetable" offerings were -- get this -- rice and gravy, macaroni and cheese, "sweet potato cass," english peas, and "corn nuggets." Have you ever seen so many starches on any one menu?! Well, I had to think for a while before I figured out that "sweet potato cass" meant sweet potato casserole. I'm thinkin', Would it have been too much trouble to type EROLE? Anyway, I ordered the baked chicken, rice with no gravy, English peas and cornbread. The English peas were straight from the can. The baked chicken was the sort of baked chicken I despise -- slimey. How do folks do that -- cook slimey baked chicken? Everything about it was slimey -- the skin, the meat, the bones. Nothin' crispy about this bird, for sure. The rice was gummy and wasn't supposed to be. But the worst thing on the awfully bad plate was the thing they called cornbread. It was one of those rectangular cut-out squares, a block, of white, crumbly, from-the-refrigerator cold something-or-other. Beyond awful. Those folks either don't know or don't care what real cornbread is supposed to be. Cornbread can be a very fine thing. What I was served at Foscue House doesn't even deserve to be called cornbread. We declined the dessert, one offering of which was peach cobbler. I can't remember what the other offering was. During this meal we were not served butter, or a salad, or a slice of anything fresh or raw, as is usually the custom with Southern dinners. This whole meal was a good example of what I call "subsistence eating." It's the kind of thing I eat ONLY when I'm starving and there's nothing else to eat. Foscue House will have to change hands before we'll consider going back. And it's a shame, because the physical place is very interesting.