Steinhoff family Archives

June 26, 2011March 1, 2012

Catfish Kitchen in Draffenville

On my final leg back to Cape, I was starting to get hungry. I knew I’d get home later than Wife Lila and Mother would want to wait (not even taking into consideration that I’d pick up a tired bike tourist), so I started thinking about what I wanted. Since I was on I-24 in the vicinity of Paducah, I pulled up the GPS waypoint for the Catfish Kitchen, which is near Draffenville, which is near Benton, Ky, which isn’t near much of anything.

The actual address is 136 Teal Run, about a mile south of Draffenville, Ky., off US 641. Just follow the cars. They’re open Wednesday through Saturday from 4 p.m. to 9 p.m., and on Sundays from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Google the restaurant and there are plenty of maps showing you the location.

Be prepared to wait

Since the folks had a trailer on Kentucky lake not far away, I’ve eaten a lot of catfish, frog legs, white beans and hushpuppies there. The only catfish around Cape that comes close to it is at Sandy’s Place at the airport on Friday night.

Because it is popular, long waits are common. That’s not such a bad thing, though. Behind the restaurant is a small lake full of fish, turtles and waterfowl. Kids and adults alike love to toss bread and hushpuppies into the water and see the size of the fish that snatch them up.

Ducks, turtles, fish and bugs

I found photos going back to 2002 without much searching. These ducks were floating around in October of that year.

Comfortable waiting room

If the weather’s not conducive to hanging around the lake or wandering outside looking at antique farm equipment, there’s a comfortable waiting room. There are plenty of toys and games to keep the kids from getting too squirmy. If they get too much out of hand, you can always feed them to the bear.

Meet Uncle Ezra

The service is fast and the servers are great about checking to see if you want refills of the unlimited white beans, hushpuppies, slaw and drinks. Mother and I took Wife Lila’s brother, John Perry over there once. They must have had to harvest another field of beans to handle his requests for refills. (I made sure to take him a half-pint of them when I left the other night.)

The inside of the restaurant is decorated with a whimsy. There’s plenty to look at while you’re waiting. The first time I saw Uncle Ezra, I thought he was real.

Antique farm machinery

You can wander around scoping out the antique farm machinery dotting the road. They have a PA system loud enough to hear your party being called, so don’t worry about losing your place in line.

Photo gallery of Catfish Kitchen

Here’s a collection of photos I’ve taken of the Catfish Kitchen over the years. Click on any photo to make it larger, then click on the left or right side to move through the gallery.

June 22, 2011September 22, 2011

Road Trip Fires and Floods

I got a late start getting out of West Palm Beach because of auto repairs. Wife Lila always says that Florida does good clouds, so I snagged this shot of a brush-fire-enhanced sunset somewhere along the Florida Turnpike.

Advantages of traveling alone

Wife Lila has discovered that she’d rather be trapped on board a flying aluminum cigar tube than spend 2-1/2 days on the road with me. In fairness, part of it is because she’s found out that I can’t ever leave on time and she’s ended up flying back home to get to work. Since she’s operating on a tighter schedule than I am (and would rather do lots of short trips instead of fewer long ones), flying makes sense for her.

That means I can spread out all of my junk food on the passenger seat next to me, play whatever I want on the radio, stop if I want to stop or drive forever if the mood hits me. My motel standards are lower than hers, too. All I ask for is for the room to be clean, to have AC in the summer, a decent shower and sheets that aren’t still warm.

Room was broiling hot

When I started getting tired long about the Florida line, I was delighted to see the prices on this hotel. The desk clerk looked a little sketchy, but the lobby seemed clean. When I got to my room, though, it was broiling hot. I went back to the clerk and asked, “What are the odds that little window AC unit is actually going to get the room cooler than the surface of the sun?”

He said he’d upgrade me to a double on the first floor where the air had been running. He did and I had a good night’s sleep for a reasonable price. (That’s a relative term. I stayed in a room in the Ozarks for two bucks a night. Motel 6 and Super 8 got their names from the amount of money they charged for a room.)

Fires and floods in Georgia

My good weather luck ran out on this trip. I saw on the radar that there was a chance I was going to hit rain going through Atlanta, but I had pretty much clear skies about 90 miles south of there. I passed a section of road where a whole section of trees were snapped off and blown down by this spring’s storms.

About an hour south of Atlanta, just about the time I crested a hill, I saw all kinds of debris blowing across the road. It was a good thing traffic was light, because I got hit with a crosswind that blew me all the way over to the next lane. There was no rain yet, but the wind was spectacular. I decided to take the next exit to see what the storm was going to do. After about 20 minutes of torrential rain, it looked like it was slacking off, so I headed off again.

Signs warned of structure fire

Just south of Atlanta, highway advisory signs warned of a large structure fire on the west side of I-75. They weren’t kidding. There was a major column of jet-black smoke rising high into the sky, then blowing off to the east.

The combination of rain and rush hour made Atlanta one huge parking lot. I let the GPS send me off on an alternate route through the countryside that probably didn’t save me any time, but was a lot nicer than inching through the traffic.

Back in the old CB days, we were running northbound with a bunch of truckers when we got word of a jam like that. One of the drivers said, “Follow me. I’ll get us around it.” The next thing we knew there was a huge convoy of 18-wheelers and my little Mazda blasting through a raft of small George towns. I bet some of their stop lights are still spinning.

June 20, 2011September 22, 2011

Time to Load Up the Bus

I see debate coach Calvin Chapman counting heads or checking for stowaways or whatever activity advisors did when they had a bus full of students heading out for mischief.

Looks alike most of these students are from the Class of 1966; I don’t recognize anyone as being from the Class of ’65.

Headed back to Cape

If I get van back from the repair shop tomorrow, I’ll hit the road to another visit to Cape. It’s a little early for a return, but I have three or four projects to work on before Fall. I’ll fill you in when things firm up a bit.

So, things may be a little light for the next few days. I won’t have Mother with me on this road trip, so I won’t have an excuse to stop for Elvis or Abe Lincoln or any of the things we saw in April.

June 18, 2011September 22, 2011

Fathers and Fishing

Fathers and fishing just seem to go hand in hand.

My grandfather, Roy Welch, would have been content to spend his whole life on a creek bank with a cane pole and his ever-present Roi Tan cigars. I’ve told the story about how I asked him why he read murder mystery books instead of my fishing magazines. His heath was failing and he was living with us at the time. His answer: “If I read about fishing, I’d want to go fishing. I can read a murder mystery without wanting to go out and kill someone.”

I’m pretty sure the man in the center middle seat is my grandfather.

Dad and Grandfather in 1942

This photo was taken of my Dad and Grandfather in Rolla in 1942.

Caption says they’re talking fishing

The caption on the back of the photo, in my Dad’s distinctive handwriting, asks, “Where can we go fishing?”

Radio of death

The “portable” radio behind Dad would operate on a huge battery or on AC power. The only catch was that if you happened to touch any metal on the radio when it was plugged into the wall, you’d get a taste of what the guy in the electric chair must have experienced. The thing is still up in Mother’s attic. I’m afraid to get near it. I think it’s still looking for me.

Fishing was fun until you caught one

When I was a kid, I loved to fly fish. I loved that feeling when you dropped a fly in just the right spot and a fish hit it like he was a tennis player returning a serve. It was all the stuff that happened after that I wasn’t keen on.

When I was working in Athens, Ohio, the other photographer, Bob Rogers, lived in a house with a nice pond in his front yard. On a slow day, I’d park my car close enough that I could hear any radio calls, then get in a little fishing. If I caught anything, I’d leave a note on Bob’s door telling him there was a stringer of fish waiting for him. Catching was more fun than cleaning.

Looks like Brothers David and Mark share my enthusiasm for skinning and preparing catfish.

Tentative touching going on

I don’t know that Mark ever warmed up to fishing, but David got to be quite an accomplished fish killer. You saw how Son Matt reacted to fish when Dad introduced him to one. He still has that reaction.

So, how many of you associate fishing with your father? Was it a mostly guy thing or was there some father / daughter bonding done on the creek bank, too?

Tag: Steinhoff family