I Finally Made it to Mitchell’s

Posted on April 27, 2010

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There will be no post about my clothing today.  I spent 14 hours in my car/in Idaho/in a wind storm.

There will, however, be a post about something much more important.  I work with a diverse group of people, some of my favorites of whom happen to be CDL drivers.  You can also call them truckers, they like that.   We make regular runs to Idaho Falls, Idaho and I’ve heard a lot of fantastic things about a restaurant (at a truck stop) there called Mitchell’s.  There is a waitress there who they affectionately refer to as “Flo” even though that’s not her real name, they think it should be.   I have a friend/customer who lives in I.F. and meets his dad at Mitchell’s every morning for coffee before work.  When I mentioned last time I was up that I really wanted to go there, he said that they go at 6:30am.  I asked about Flo, and he gave me a questioning look.  I said “That’s not her real name.” He knew exactly who I was talking about, but said that she didn’t work in the mornings.   That sealed the deal against me getting up to be ready for coffee at 6:30 in the morning, in Idaho, in January.

I was determined to hit Mitchell’s today.  Seeing my favorite trucker driving up the freeway with a full load of my babies early this morning made me even more determined.  I planned my trip so that I would hit I.F. at noon, eat lunch, then go do the work that I needed to do.  I googlemapped how to get to Mitchell’s and found it easily.  I had seen the tall sign from the road before and made a mental note, but sometimes all of the towns I drive to melt together.  Tucked behind a truck stop just off Highway 20 on Iona Road, I pulled in and took a good long look at this:

I snapped the photo from my driver’s seat and almost backed out.   I also almost called my driver to find out the best way to go about the experience, but changed my mind because I knew he was driving a fully loaded semi truck in a wind storm on an interstate that’s windy even on a calm day, and “Safety First” even if that means “Safety Before Truck Stop Guidance”.

I went in and stood there like an idiot for a couple of minutes.  People were staring at me as if I didn’t belong.  I didn’t, and I knew it.  Eventually the nice man with the homemade tattoos on his arm said hello, and I asked him if I just picked a seat, and he said “Yup, seat yerself.” and so I did, in a booth with a pretty good view.

I kept hearing a “Ding” sound, and I realized that the cook hit a bell when an order was up.  My heart was happy.

The decor was pretty much exactly as it should be.  Simple, straightforward, Idaho truck stoppy.  The waitress uniforms were white top, black jeans, and black and white Sketchers “Shape Ups” shoes.

The waitress (not Flo, but I’m pretty sure I saw Flo, and that almost counts) didn’t seem excited about me being there, so I was extra nice and she sort of warmed up a little bit.  After looking over the menu and being tempted by the “Idaho Nachos” I decided to order a sandwich that I could eat the insides of, in order to get french fries.  I really super love french fries.

The fries were amazing.  I made sure to tell the waitress this.  She lit up and said “They’re fresh cut!  Nothing better” and she was right.  They were so, so good.  I was getting weird looks for playing with my phone, so I put it away and did not photograph my fries, which I deeply regret.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to go again.  I’m pretty sure I’m going to look through the window and make sure that I sit in Flo’s section.  I’m pretty sure I’m going to tell her all about how I’ve been wanting to meet her for years.  I’m pretty sure I’m not going to tell her that her name is Flo.

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Posted in: Adventures