Esfandiary Albany

        Oh, you might jump into your car, or motorcycle, or horse, and head for Albany, Texas, on a whim, for some good cooking. As I sat at the Beehive waiting for my Fort Griffin burger (hold the cheese), hordes of workers streamed through the door.
         I've always understood that large numbers of trucks parked outside a restaurant, or locals hanging around all day, or workers streaming in the door at noon determines inarguably the quality of the food and service at any restaurant, so, I beamed with expectation as I saw hungry people filing by my table.
        The waitress greeted the river of men coming in obviously accustomed to this happenstance every day at around noon. "How many ya got, boys?" One, covered in soil hat to boots, shrugged his shoulders and said, "Don' know. Twelve mayb," and then watched her expectantly, as if familiar with the routine here, ready for her instructions on where to sit, in the front room, where I sat, or in the back room with the deer heads. She commanded him to sit in the back room. She commanded everyone. She knew how to guide the flow. She knew they felt hungry and she knew she would serve good food to fill their bellies.

          This painting hanging above me seems to symbolize the restaurant: You need food and water, stop here, and dang, it's good to eat and drink after a long day's riding -- because you're hot and tired and because the food tastes good. 

          Here's the link to their website: http://www.fortgriffinandbeehive.com/index.html

Summer clouds in Texas along the way to Albany.

Hay in the sun.

Cows in the shade.