The Captain's Side Hustle

G.D. Ritzy's is my favorite restaurant, and Evansville is home to my favorite G.D. Ritzy's locations.

I may not be the world’s biggest G.D. Ritzy’s fan, but I like to think I’m at least in the top five. Around this time last year, I went on a four day road trip to dine at every operating location. I have a G.D. Ritzy’s logo tattooed on my right arm. In the past 12 months, I’ve traveled from Metro Detroit to the farthest corner of Indiana no fewer than four times for the sole purpose of dining at my favorite three Ritzy’s locations in Evansville. I had long known that the trio of Ritzy’s locations in Evansville were the absolute best thing the town had to offer, but I only recently realized that they were better than everything else in town by such a considerable margin.

I spent a good chunk of this past weekend in Evansville checking out a few other places that struck my interest in addition to making a few obligatory visits to Ritzy’s. My experience led me to the realization that Ritzy’s long term success in Evansville in the face of the closure of nearly all the 120 or so other locations nearly 30 year ago was propelled by the ineptitude of the other businesses in town.

That’s not to say that Ritzy’s is in any way mediocre. I’ve visited every operating Ritzy’s at least once, and have always been rewarded with a transcendentally excellent fast food experience. But when every competing business in town aspires to mediocrity, a place like Ritzy’s that aspires to perfection and seldom falls short, shines all the more. 

After swapping emails with my unofficial lead location scout MapCat, I got curious about a restaurant chain called Grandy’s, the second best known fried chicken chain founded by a man named Sanders. Rex E. Sanders, (no relation) and Walter E. Johnson opened the first Grandy’s in Dallas in 1972. In 1983, the company was bought out by Saga Foods, who grew Grandy’s to a 200 unit chain. A series of buyouts, bankruptcies, and general turmoil of the next three decades left Grandy’s owned by Captain D’s. Their presence is significantly diminished today, with 40 locations open, the vast majority of which are in and around Dallas and Oklahoma City. Outside of Texas and Oklahoma, the largest concentration of Grandy’s locations is in southwestern Indiana and northwestern Kentucky with five locations in the area. I used these locations as an excuse to make my first trip to Evansville of 2019 to get my quarterly Ritzy’s fix and to check out Grandy’s.

I'm looking forward to eating at this particular Captain D's again. 

Grandy’s corporate parent, Captain D’s is a brand that I hadn’t had an experience with in the past 15 years or so. While not a broken chain, they’re definitely regional, and I had spent little time in their operating territory since I left Kentucky in 2004. As luck would have it, I would be passing right by the Defiance, Ohio Captain D’s on my way to Evansville. I stopped in for dinner with moderate expectations. The fast food seafood segment in general is waning in popularity, and my local Long John Silver's locations that haven’t closed are looking pretty long in the tooth. Captain D’s completely took me by surprise, though. The older building had been thoroughly renovated. The staff was courteous and helpful, and my food came out quickly, and was hot and fresh. I left with a much higher opinion of Captain D’s and with greater anticipation of experiencing their sister brand, Grandy’s. 

Grandy's buildings seem to be beige rectangles. 

Meal #1
Location: Grandy's, 2005 US Highway 41, Henderson, Kentucky
Order: Two piece dark meat fried chicken meal with baked beans and coleslaw, (allegedly) sweet tea

"Y'all want some chicken? I got me a whole mess of chicken in this here caterin' van!"

The next day, I drove straight through Evansville to the Henderson, Kentucky Grandy’s. I had checked the menu out before and knew exactly what I wanted. As I walked through the parking lot, past the dilapidated catering van, and in the front door to the order counter, I found the floor was noticeably sticky to the point that I had mild concern that I might lose a shoe. There was no line, and the lone cashier waved me over. I ordered up a two piece dark meat meal, and as if I was Betelgeuse, ordering a burger and fries from the first McDonald’s in The Founder, my order arrived at the counter just as I finished paying. I was taken aback by this, just as Johnny Dangerously had been at McDonald’s, but most fried chicken places tend to fry up large batches in advance and keep them warm, so it wasn’t terribly unusual for this type of place. KFC and Popeyes operate similarly. 

The chicken could have been more fresh and better seasoned, but this wasn't a bad meal. 

Since I had just crossed the Ohio River from Indiana into Kentucky, and was technically in the south, I filled my cup with sweet tea, and sat down in the brightly lit, but generally nondescript dining room. I was surprised to see my meal had come with a yeasty roll rather than a biscuit, but even KFC started out selling similar rolls, and it tasted pretty good when covered with the nondairy buttery spread and packet of honey-flavored corn syrup that came with my meal. Additionally, I was excited to see baked beans on the menu. Not only were they tasty, but they took me back to the good old days when every KFC in every town in America would sell you a Styrofoam cup of the Musical Fruit with your chicken. Sadly, KFC stopped selling baked beans years ago, but these Grandy's beans tasted similar and took me right back to my bean-eating glory days. Additionally, the coleslaw was above average with a tangy sauce coating nicely chunky pieces of cabbage. The chicken on the other hand, reminded me of the fried chicken I'd had in Wisconsin at the last operating Red Barn. 

The beige theme continues inside. 

I've never really met a piece of fried chicken I didn't like. It's one of those foods that's still pretty good, even when prepared badly. As with my trip to Red Barn, I visited this Grandy's at a not terribly busy time of day, thanks to my appetite not adjusting to a new time zone, and as a result, the chicken seemed to have been sitting for a while. It was a little soggy and not terribly warm. It was also under seasoned, without much in the way of flavor. In a fast food segment that's all about seasoning, whether it's Popeyes spicy chicken, The Colonel's famous 11 herbs and spices, or the 21 herbs and spices at Florida's own Maryland Fried Chicken, it's all about the seasoning in the chicken business. Grandy's, on the other hand, lets the natural flavors of the bird parts and breading speak for themselves, and they don't have much to say. To make matters worse, my sweet tea wasn't nearly sweet enough. I chalk that up to the fact I was just barely in Kentucky, nearly within sight of the bridge that led back into Indiana. I'll give Grandy's the benefit of the doubt, and assume that their more southern locations have sweeter tea. 

More like unsweetened and extra-unsweetened. 

I got up from my table, not feeling underwhelmed, but definitely not overwhelmed by my inaugural Grandy's experience. I was merely whelmed by the Henderson Grandy's, but I thought that Grandy's may have a trick or two up their proverbial sleeve yet. Unlike the big fried chicken chains, Grandy's has a breakfast menu. Following my lunch stop at Grandy's, a second lunch at G.D. Ritzy's, and dinner at a different G.D. Ritzy's, I spent the night in Evansville, and stopped by their Grandy's for breakfast on my way out of town.

Meal #2
Location: Grandy's 722 Landbridge Way, Evansville, Indiana
Order: Deluxe Biscuit with sausage, Sinnamon® Roll, Sweet(er) Tea

After spending a not at all restful night in an Evansville hotel, I really needed to cheer myself up with a good breakfast, and my hopes were high as I walked up to the order counter of the Evansville Grandy's. As I studied the menu board, a lone employee darted from the kitchen and drive thru window repeatedly, apologizing and assuring me she'd be right with me every time she passed, the longer I waited, the more apparent it became that she was running the entire place alone, an impressive feat of fastfoodsmanship. 

Menu boards were nicely printed and reasonably modern, if a little busy. 

Once the lone employee had the opportunity to devote the majority of her attention to me, I ordered, and she took my money. From there, I saw panic in her eyes. She yelled to some unseen and/or nonexistent coworker regarding what came on a deluxe biscuit. When she received no response, she turned to me and posed the same question. I replied that I wasn't sure, as I had never eaten breakfast at Grandy's before, but suggested that the picture of the sandwich in question on the menu board behind her showed what appeared to be sausage, egg, and cheese. Relieved, she studied the menu board, and assembled my order from the serving trays behind her as I filled my cup with almost passably sweet tea. I thanked the lone Grandy's employee as she was helping another customer. I overheard her mentioning that all of her coworkers were out back smoking. That turned out to be not quite true, however, as when I rounded the corner into the lobby, another employee seemed to be deeply engaged in friendly conversation with a regular customer while her coworker struggled to keep things running smoothly behind the counter. 

"No time to take the chairs off the tables. We've all got to take a smoke break!"

It was with a combination of amazement that the woman I had dealt with was running the entire place and profound annoyance at her less than esteemed colleagues' collective lack of work ethic, that I found my way to one of the tables that didn't still have chairs still stacked on it, and examined my order. Indeed, my breakfast sandwich had sausage, egg, and cheese on it, but the lone working Grandy's employee who assembled it, obviously overwhelmed by her workload and unfamiliar with the food preparation process had put it on a bun rather than a biscuit. I couldn't fault her for this, as she was doing about as good a job as could be expected given that her coworkers didn't seem to be doing any jobs at all. Still, the bun was too large for the egg and sausage patty, cold, untoasted, and dry. I ate two bites before giving up on it. I didn't have the heart to go back to the order counter to complain to the poor overworked woman single-handedly running the whole joint. 

That's a funny looking biscuit. 

I moved on to the Sinnamon® roll, and found it to be unique among fast food cinnamon rolls in that it contained both nuts and raisins. I don't have a problem with either when they're used properly in baked goods. The confection was enrobed in a sticky glaze, so I cut off a piece with a knife and extracted it with a fork. Unsurprisingly, it was room temperature, which was a shame. I didn't expect it to be freshly baked, but some time under a heat lamp or 20 seconds in the microwave would have enhanced my enjoyment of the Sinnamon® roll tenfold, but at room temperature, eating a pastry proclaiming itself to be sinful hardly seemed worth the risk of eternal damnation. Like the breakfast sandwich, I gave up after two bites, and dumped my tray in the trash. 

A little bit of thermal energy would drastically improve this thing. 

Like most of my non-Ritzy's stops this trip, Grandy's was a bit of a letdown. With its mostly fried menu, of foods that unabashedly aren't prepared fresh, the concept generally feels dated, and the locations I visited were unattractive, poorly maintained, and understaffed. These experiences stand in stark contrast to my meal at a location of Grandy's corporate sibling, Captain D's, which was stellar. If Captain D's corporate has any hope of keeping the Kentucky and Indiana Grandy's locations open in the short term, they need to motivate the franchisee who owns the locations I visited to operate more like the exceptional Captain D's I encountered in Ohio. If they want Grandy's to succeed and thrive in the long term, then they should look at modernizing the overall look, feel, and taste of Grandy's. They seem to have done a great job of doing just that with the Captain D's brand. It's all a question of how many resources they want to sink into reviving Grandy's. 

As for me, I now know for sure that G.D. Ritzy's is the only Evansville-based business worth patronizing. While in town checking out other previously unexplored businesses, I had a couple of other horrific transactions in addition to the one at Grandy's. At the risk of putting too much negativity into the world, expect my next couple of posts to be about the horrors that awaited me at other non-Ritzy's businesses in Evansville, Indiana. 

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Relief Pitch

The mid nineties were host to a sudden barrage of franchised sandwich shops. It was nigh impossible to visit a strip mall or food court that didn’t have a Subway or Blimpie location. Low franchise fees and minimal building, equipment, and staff requirements meant that it was relatively easy for a business-minded individual to open and successfully run a chain sandwich joint. Like most fast food fads, there were plenty of smaller players that also wanted in on the action. The year 1996 was an eventful year for the city of Atlanta, Georgia. The city was hosting the summer Olympics and dealing with the associated influx of people from around the world there to participate in, run, and bear witness to the event. That same year, a sandwich chain was founded in Atlanta that was brave enough to ask the question, “What’s so great about bread, anyway?” Linda Wolf and Julie Reid opened the first Roly Poly location in Atlanta’s Buckhead neighborhood, which I suspect is adjacent to the Beavis District. Both Wolf and Reid had previously operated their own independent sandwich shops that entirely eliminated traditional bread, and instead served wrapped sandwiches, with traditional sandwich ingredients rolled up in tortilla-like wraps. Their new concept, Roly Poly was designed from the ground up for franchising, following a similar model to Subway and Blimpie that allowed franchisees to operate out of existing structures, typically strip mall slots. The ‘90s sandwich boom was kind to Roly Poly, and the chain had grown to 170 locations by the early 2000s.

The chain shrunk considerably in the ensuing years, and I can find little information as to why, but I suspect the 2008 recession and competition from second wave low-overhead sandwich chains like Jimmy John’s had a lot to do with it. The Roly Poly website “About Us” section claims there are 125 locations open in 24 states, but a quick look at their list of locations indicates that claim is outdated. Their true count today is closer to 44 locations in 13 states, and more than half of those locations are in Georgia, Alabama, and Louisiana. The remaining locations are spread thinly from Texas to Connecticut.

Like my memory of Izzy the Whatzit, the 1996 Olympic mascot, my memory of Roly Poly is fuzzy at best. I remember briefly encountering one growing up in Lexington, Kentucky. It was 2000 or so, and I was an angsty teen suffering the embarrassing fate of running errands with my mother, Judy Actionsdower. We stopped at a strip mall for lunch, and when my mom suggested we dine at the Roly Poly in said strip mall, I scoffed at the prospect of being seen sharing a meal with my mother, and instead asked her for money so I could eat at the A&W next door by myself while she ate alone at the Roly Poly. Clearly, I was a delight as a teenager. That was the closest I ever came to having a Roly Poly meal, and that location, along with all the others in Kentucky was gone not long after that.

The better part of two decades later, I’m a (relatively) content adult with a reasonably healthy and amicable relationship with my parents, and I got curious about the current state of Roly Poly, the way I often do about various diminished restaurant chains. I did a little research, and found two locations within relatively reasonable driving distance, and set off to see what the surviving locations of the chain had to offer so many years after their heyday. 

Meal #1
Location: Roly Poly 545 East Grand Blanc Road, Grand Blanc, Michigan
Order: #55 Pesto Chicken (whole), Salt and Vinegar Chips, Diet Coke,

Grand Blanc, Michigan is one of those towns that has consistently provided me with interesting places to visit and write about. I’ve previously visited both a Dawn Donuts, and a Kewpee-descended Halo Burger location in Grand Blanc. I was excited to be back again for my first-ever Roly Poly experience. It was lunchtime on a Saturday when I got to the strip mall housing the Roly Poly. I was surprised to find only one customer other than myself there. A woman I took to be the manager was finishing up taking a phone order when I walked in, but I needed time to browse the menu anyway. 

The Roly Poly menu board is massive; a literal wall of text describing each of the numerous rolled sandwiches on offer. Each sandwich has a number, but confusingly the numbers are non-sequential, and they range from 3 to 160 with wide gaps in between. Logic and cursory research reveals no apparent reason for this scattershot numbering system. I ended up ordering number 59, a chicken pesto wrap, and I opted for the whole rather than half, the equivalent of a Subway footlong as opposed to a six inch. I got my chips and drink and sat down. 

My one regret is that I didn't get Mello Yello.

I had half expected my wrap to be prepared in front of me like a Subway sandwich, Chipotle burrito, or like the burgers I get at Harvey’s on the rare occasions when I find myself in Canada. Instead, the kitchen at this Roly Poly was walled off, with only a small pickup window connecting it to the dining area. I peeked through the window, and found three or four employees working the surprisingly large kitchen. Despite the empty dining area, all seemed to be busy. I wondered what they were up to, and how the place could stay in business with minimal clientele and such a large staff. It was then that I noticed the numerous signs around me advertising catering services. This gave me the impression that the restaurant thing was just a side hustle, and that this Roly Poly’s main gig is catering events, showing up with big party trays full of wrapped sandwiches. 

Essentially an Italian burrito...

...not that there's anything wrong with that

My order was delivered to my table not long after that. The wrap was about the size of a Taco Bell Grilled Stuft Burrito if it were cut into two pieces. Like the GSB, it had been toasted on some George Foremanesque grill. I gave it a taste, and found it perfectly pleasant with the expected chicken, pesto, sun dried tomato, and cheesy goodness that was promised by the lengthy description on the menu board. 

Meal #2
Location: Roly Poly, 1616 West Third Street, Bloomington, Indiana
Order: #55 Roly Pounder (Half), Sun Chips, Diet Coke

This location was also in a strip mall slot, as I suspect most, if not all Roly Poly locations were/are. The dining room there was incredibly small, with no more than eight tables crammed into what was essentially a wide corridor between the kitchen, single restroom, and wall. It was a little before 11 AM on a weekday, but this place was a little more lively than the last. There was a customer in front of me in line, and another employee was leaving with a delivery order. 

Beard Guy totally noticed me taking this picture. Sorry, Beard Guy. 

I had some other blog-related food stops planned that day, so I only ordered a half wrap. This time, I went with a cold wrap, known as the Roly Pounder. An employee emerged from the clandestine kitchen and delivered it to my table a few minutes after I had ordered. The Rollie Pounder was not unpleasant in its blend of flavors, but the pickle spear running through the middle of it overwhelmed the rest of the ingredients a bit. In general, it seemed heavy on vegetables and light on meat and cheese. The menu promised turkey, ham, cheese, and bacon, but the bacon seemed to be missing. Bacon would have made it better, but not so much so that I saw fit to complain. I will complain a bit about the price though. Somehow I ended up paying eight bucks and change for a wrap with very little meat that I ate in four bites, plus chips and a drink. I didn’t see the appeal of this particular sandwich, but if I were at a catered event with a pile of them on a tray, I guess I wouldn’t complain. Maybe they’re cheaper in bulk.

The thematically appropriate swirl patterned paper liner is a nice touch... 

...as are the high quality leafy greens. 

Two or three more customers came in and ordered while I was eating, and a guy that seemed to be the manager mentioned their catering service to both of them, even saying that catering was their thing. From my unique perspective, it seems like the appeal of a restaurant that makes wrapped sandwiches is limited, but since the sandwiches travel well, can be eaten with one hand by party goers, and are easy to make quickly and in large quantities, the concept lends itself well to catering, and the Roly Poly franchisees that are still in business seem to have become caterers first and restaurateurs second. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this, but I’d like to see Roly Poly thrive as a restaurant chain. I think that perhaps, I have a plan to make it happen. 

This photo includes a solid 90% of the dining area. 

Call me a prude, but I like my salad dressed. 

Roly Poly came into existence at the peak of the sandwich shop fad, which has since faded considerably. Restaurants with menus based on chicken strips are a present-day fad, especially in the south, where the majority of Roly Poly locations are operating. Thanks in part to a generation raised on boneless chicken, chains like Zaxby’s, Slim Chickens, and Raising Caine’s are wildly popular these days and quickly growing. Roly Poly locations seem to have large kitchens that could easily accomodate a few deep fryers. They should, of course keep, the wrapped sandwiches on the menu to continue with the successful catering businesses that franchisees have established, but some fried chicken tenders, perhaps marketed as chicken fingers, would bring a new crowd into the restaurants.

 

I would buy chicken from Rollie Fingers, and you should too. 

The chain should change its marketing, and perhaps its name to indicate the revamped menu, but the new name shouldn’t alienate the current customer base. It therefore makes sense to keep the Roly to indicate they still sell rolled sandwiches, but they should drop the “Poly” and replace it with “Fingers” to tell the world that they now sell chicken fingers. They should then, naturally, hire retired Major League pitcher and active mustache enthusiast Rollie Fingers to be the celebrity spokesman for the newly-branded Roly Fingers. Not to toot my own horn, but it’s the cleverest bit of pun-based celebrity restaurant spokesmanship I’ve come up with since I suggested Geddy Lee from Rush should endorse Spageddie’s. Like Geddy Lee, Rollie Fingers has a distinctive look that would stand out on a corporate logo, and he’s retired, and therefore probably not busy. Plus, if Colonel Sanders has taught us anything, it’s that elderly men with unique facial hair are great at selling chicken. Roly Fingers locations could even hand out false mustaches with kids meals the way Uncle John’s Pancake House used to.

I’ll admit the idea started with a pun, but it sounds better the more I think about it. Boneless fried chicken lends itself well to being wrapped up in a tortilla with other toppings, so chicken fingers seem like an obvious addition to the Roly Poly menu. And with the ever-growing popularity of chicken fingers, and by maintaining the current low-overhead, small footprint philosophy of Roly Poly locations, Roly Fingers could grow quickly, perhaps returning to, or exceeding its initial maximum location count. This would give them a leg up on the established chicken finger chains as well, which usually operate out of larger, more expensive, freestanding structures.

Linda, Julie, if you’re reading this, you can have the Roly Fingers idea for free. I’d be delighted to see the sandwich chain you founded experience a second act as a sandwich and chicken chain. If you’re successful, you could even hire character actress CCH Pounder to do a commercial where she and Rollie Fingers get married and he changes his name to Rollie Pounder. Just don’t forget the bacon.

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Feedlot

Older Sirloin Stockade locations have a larger than life fiberglass bull out front. This one just has a picture of one on the sign. 

The annals of chain restaurant history are festooned with formulas and fads. When White Castle achieved success selling hamburgers as something akin to health food in the 1920’s, countless imitators sprung up using the same template. Some, like Krystal, remain in business today. When Ray Kroc appropriated the McDonald brothers’ innovations in quick food service, chains like Sandy’s, Mr. Quick, and Henry’s copied the McDonald’s formula, and set up shop in the backyard of McDonald’s HQ.

Not long after that, beef prices tanked, consumer tastes evolved, and as a result, fast food moved upmarket, serving up cuts of cow more expensive than ground chuck. To borrow a term from celebrated burgerman Bob Belcher, the early to mid sixties were the years of the beef boom. Countless regional chains emerged selling roast beef sandwiches. Some like Arby’s, Rax, and Roy Rogers would go national. Others like Neba and Heap Big Beef would disappear leaving only distinctive, empty buildings behind. Even established chains like Burger Chef and McDonald’s began offering roast beef sandwiches. The upmarket fast food roast beef chains only represented a fraction of the beef boom, however.

Just a notch above the new roast beef sandwich joints were the discount steakhouses. Ponderosa, Bonanaza, York Steak House, and Western Sizzlin’ all came into existence in the early to mid sixties, offering steak, and later buffet dinners at prices that allowed middle class families to go out for steak on the regular, but as beef prices rose and tastes again changed, the beef boom went bust with few winners. Virtually every beef boom chain other than Arby’s is severely diminished or defunct today, which is why I’ve visited, and written about so many, finding further holdouts of the bygone beefy era the deeper I look.

I was recently alerted to the persisting existence of another relic of the beef boom, a regional chain known as Sirloin Stockade. The first one opened in Oklahoma City in 1966, serving steak and sides buffet-style, and rose to success during the beef boom years. Hard times came, as they did for so many broken chains, in the seventies, and by 1982, Golden Corral had purchased the 250ish unit chain. A handful of Sirloin Stockade franchisees were able to acquire the rights to the Sirloin Stockade name, and remained in business under a new corporate entity known as Stockade Companies.

Today, Stockade Companies supports 14 surviving Sirloin Stockade locations that are sparsely spread from Texas to Indiana. This number appears to be in rapid decline, as their website states they operate 80 restaurants, but even if you add all the locations of Stockade’s other alliteratively-named chains, Coyote Canyon and Montana Mike’s, the total only comes to 31. Sirloin Stockade, a near forgotten, quickly disappearing beef boom relic captured my curiosity, and I was able to stop by the Marion, Indiana location for dinner recently.

It's Saturday night in Marion, Indiana, and Sirloin Stockade is packed.

It was Saturday evening when I rolled into town, driving past both a shiny new Texas Roadhouse with a half-empty parking lot and a deserted, independent, nonspecific Asian buffet operating out of what was clearly a former Golden Corral. Both were within a couple of miles of the Sirloin Stockade, whose parking lot was nearly full. After taking the time to appreciate the white brick building with backlit signs that I suspect date back to the 1970s, I walked in the front door, and got in line to order. 

I doubt the signs have been updated since Stockade Companies became a corporate entity. 

 Pick your meat

Like most beef boom-era steakhouses, Sirloin Stockade has you order and pay at a counter before you are seated. This location, and I suspect many others, has abandoned serving all you can eat steak on the buffet, and instead offers it, and other premium proteins as an add-on to the buffet. For any halfway experienced restaurant cook, Steak is a difficult food to cook incorrectly, so with the assumption that the steak was at least passable, and therefore unremarkable, I told my cashier I’d only be having the buffet. Another employee showed me to one of the few empty tables where my waitress introduced herself and brought my Diet Dew. 

Menu boards seem generic. 

Following the exchange of pleasantries with my waitress, I navigated through the multitudes of my fellow budget-minded diners, and found my way to the salad bar, which due to the near-capacity Saturday night dinner crowd, resembled a calorie-conscious game of Hungry Hungry Hippos with an ever-changing array of disembodied arms reaching under the sneeze guard for the various salad fixins on offer. I somehow loaded up my plate, and found my way back to my table with what is essentially my go-to salad bar concoction, sliced beets and honey mustard dressing on a bed of out-of-the-bag salad mix, with small piles of coleslaw and broccoli salad alongside. It was pretty standard salad bar fare, generally acceptable and unremarkable. I ate most of it, pushing the last bits and pieces onto my fork with the little buttery Club crackers I snagged from the salad bar for that purpose. 

Y'all git yer fixins!

My typical salad bar plate. 

Next, I fought my way to the buffet which consisted of a few different self-serve food bars. One line has pot roast, while another had fried chicken and pulled pork, flanked by a plastic bag of grocery store buns. Another bar I didn’t manage to get a picture of seemed to have been designed with kids in mind, as it was stocked with mini corn dogs, chicken nuggets, pretzel nuggets, and soggy fries. Still, I saw a surprising number of adults filling up their plates from this area. With a plate full of pot roast, mashed potatoes topped with a chicken-flavored noodle goo, and some limp vegetables I weaved through the crowd back to my table, and was reminded of the food I’d find in my state university’s dining hall or perhaps in a church basement during a Sunday afternoon potluck. Nothing tasted fresh or especially good. The pot roast was lukewarm, but like at the dining hall or church I could have as much mediocre food as I wanted. 

A significant percentage of the town's population was here. 

 Behold the bounty of Sirloin Stockade. 

The dessert course was pretty standard for cheap buffets, with a bar full of cobblers, cakes, cookies, and a soft serve machine with a loud compressor and triple nozzles dripping melted ice cream onto the tray below. I sampled a few things that could have just as easily come from Ponderosa or Golden Corral, before taking my leave, noticing the place was more crowded than ever. 

Unlimited Soft Serve makes everything a little bit better. 

While the Sirloin Stockade brand has been struggling to various degrees over the past four decades, that certainly wasn’t the case in Marion, Indiana. I suspect the low price point (under $14 for the dinner buffet with a drink) keeps the crowds coming. They even seem to do some catering, if the Sirloin Stockade branded van I saw in the parking lot was any indication. Whoever owns the place seems to have found a winning strategy for ensuring their continued existence and popularity, despite not having a uniformly positive perception in Marion. 

If you have Sirloin Stockade cater your next event, they'll probably show up in this van. 

My Airbnb hosts that evening were nearby, and shared my interest in diminished restaurant and retail chains. We sat in the living room for a solid couple of hours discussing our mutual passion and they seemed to express equal parts surprise and concern that I had come to their town to eat at Sirloin Stockade. Later that night I found out why. While my meal wasn’t expensive, my stomach paid dearly for the meal I had eaten. Since the Vernal Equinox was this week, I’ll leave you with a Springtime-inspired song about my experience, sung to the tune of Irving Berlin’s “Easter Parade”

♬I don’t want to flaunt it, but I spewed a lot of vomit.
It happened after I ate at the Sirloin Stockade.
I was completely sober, but in pain and doubled over.
From dining from the buffet at the Sirloin Stockade. ♬

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Pie Day

For the first time ever, Broken Chains has a guest author. Today's post was written by Mike from Houston Historic Retail. Enjoy!

One of the very first computers I had the pleasure of using was a Compaq Presario. In the early ‘90s, Houston had quite the affinity for Compaq. The company was headquartered and operated out of Houston. Many local school districts and companies maintained exclusive contracts with Compaq up until their takeover by Hewlett Packard, and some even continue those contracts with HP. To this day, HP maintains a significant presence in the Houston area. Compaq’s history is not that different from many tech startups of the present-day. Some managers working for Texas Instruments (Yes, the TI-83 Calculator people.) decided to branch out on their own. Without an office to plan in, they met at House of Pies and drew their initial sketch of the Compaq Portable on the back of a place mat.

The “House” at the front of the restaurant was a common feature to most House of Pies Locations

The “House” at the front of the restaurant was a common feature to most House of Pies Locations. An interesting story in and of itself, the Compaq tale is just a side note in the history of House of Pies. When you first visit House of Pies, you get the feeling that you’ve seen a building design like this somewhere else before. The building is tall, long, and pretty thin. With these design requirements, it quite resembles the Original IHOP building design.

The signage featured on the exterior of the building is presumably newer. It drops “The Original” from the name.

The signage featured on the exterior of the building is presumably newer. It drops “The Original” from the name. Walking up to the restaurant, you can almost feel the age ooze from the building itself, channeling itself through the dank humid Houston air, transmuting anyone who enters the parking lot into an honorary senior citizen. With this show of age, the hallmarks of a broken chain begin to appear. Which brings us to the discussion of what exactly was The Original House of Pies. Al Lapin Jr. a restaurateur most famous for his earlier chain IHOP, founded House of Pies in the mid sixties. Both chains were owned by International Industries, a company held by Mr. Lapin, and were originally seen as sibling brands.

The original Compaq Portable computer was designed on the back of one of these place mats.

I came to House of Pies in the mid-afternoon on a Sunday. I had expected it to be quite busy especially with the after church-crowd. However, to my surprise, it was only moderately busy. I had no wait to be seated, and the entire time I was eating there was no wait for a table until well after I had ordered pie. Partly this was thanks to the staff for turning tables quickly, as well as a “Table Service Fee” of $3.50 per person per hour for any customers who fail to meet that minimum in food ordered.

The appetizers are a relatively new addition. They’ve been around for a few years but still aren’t printed in the menu.

I perused the relatively extensive menu complete before finally being greeted by my server. I considered what exactly I wanted to get. Back a few years ago when House of Pies was a regular haunt for me I generally ordered the Eggs, Potatoes, and Chopped Steak. It was a great amount of food for under $10, and there were never any issues with the taste. However, to help better represent what House of Pies has become since splintering I chose the decidedly Texan Eggs, Potatoes, and Chicken Fried Steak. When my waitress approached me I was able to put in both a drink and food order at the same time, saving an extra step.

As the dining room became busier, it was increasingly difficult to get good pictures.

While waiting on my food to arrive, I had some time to ponder the history of the chain. While I can’t find an exact number of restaurants opened, conservative estimates place it around 40. Like IHOP, they were originally a West Coast phenomenon, eventually branching out to places like Denver, Chicago, and obviously Houston. The chain experienced about ten years of growth before International Industries (The Company Al Lapin formed to run his restaurant brands) was sued by a group of franchisees who specified that they were being overcharged for supplies. In the mid-1970s, the chain was liquidated, and many franchisees became owners. From here the history gets extremely hard to track but the take-away is that without any corporate structure, the restaurants were left on their own. Today, four locations remain open, three in Houston, and one in Los Angeles. 

While resembling Burger King hash browns those round potatoes are called cottage fries.

Midway through reminiscing about a past I never experienced, my food showed up. Everything looked delicious and fried. I quickly disposed of the garnish. After all, Texas didn’t fight for its independence from Mexico for me to eat rabbit food on the Lord’s day! Using the table-supplied Tabasco to spice up my eggs, I dug in. Everything on the plate was delicious. I truly couldn’t remember the last time I had been to House Of Pies, but the quality had not declined. The only exception was the eggs, which were slightly overdone and definitely needed the help of some spice.

Although the dish doesn’t look huge here, for $9 this is a lot of food.

When I dine out, it’s a rarity for me to finish a meal. Usually, I box up around half of my food and finish it a few hours later. After skipping breakfast this Sunday morning, I was more than inclined to finish not just all my food but to order up some pie as well. My waitress took my order of strawberry rhubarb pie to the front counter where the restaurant’s bakery is. In the meantime, I got up to wash my hands and check out the bathroom. After finding it to be pretty standard, though tiny, I returned to the dining room.

The peculiar layout and small size of this restaurant pretty much make it impossible to take any stealthy pictures.

Although difficult to make out in this photo, House of Pies maintains a very small dining room. All in all, I would assume they could hold about 75 people. Most booths have four person seating. There are no chairs except for a few that are permanently connected to the limited bar seating.

Delicious and overflowing are two adjectives that are rarely used together. However, they’re the perfect fit here.

Getting back to my seat, I quickly finished my slice of pie. Not needing my usual to-go box, I was delivered my check. Which was an odd combination of handwritten slip, that had obviously been passed through a receipt printer. This technology was likely added later in life, as these locations opened in the late sixties.

That orange sign uses the original logo and script for House of Pies.

Making my way to the front, I snapped a couple of pictures of things I had missed on the way out. Unfortunately, the rising traffic meant I couldn’t get a picture of the front counter bakery.

The gold carved out lettering mixed with the brown wood makes this look like a state park sign.

I could only get a picture of the bottom half of this sign. The top half has a huge rotating piece to indicate if it is self-seating or not. The other Houston location has one, but I’m not sure that these signs were original to the building.

Overall I had a good experience, without getting to visit the Los Angeles location, I’m not exactly sure what has deviated over the years, but I’m sure things have. What sells in Houston doesn’t always sell in Los Angeles, and to add to that, House of Pies definitely sells in Houston. Within the past year they have opened two new locations, both former locations of newly-broken chain Black Eyed Pea, but that’s a story for another blog post.