I’m not so much for chain eateries of any kind, preferring unique, family-run businesses to generic restaurants. Jackson has some independent jewels — Thai House, Hickory Pit, Rossini, Haru.
But choices in Jackson are limited, and, if you eat out as often as we do, you’re bound to find yourself sitting in a chain joint at some point. One such spot we return to again and again is, of all places, the Roadhouse Steakhouse just off County Line Road, near Sam’s Wholesale Club.
Remember a few years back when the steakhouse chains differentiated themselves by having a distinctive shtick? At LoneStar, for example, the staff would break into a compulsory line dance every time the jukebox played "Achy Breaky Heart." At the Roadhouse, diners were encouraged to throw peanut husks on the floor. At Western Sizzlin’, the servers were competing to see who could smear on the most rouge and wear the tackiest dangling jewelry. (That last one wasn’t, I don’t think, a program approved by corporate.)
The fads are, thankfully, gone, leaving the steakhouses to stand or fall on their own merits. At the Roadhouse, throwing your peanut husks on the floor is frowned on now (if you do it, the hostess may bring an empty metal bucket and smack it on your table), and the crayons — once passed along to patrons to encourage the inscription of graffiti on the walls — are in very short supply. Still, especially for a chain, the crew serves up dutifully consistent, if unimaginative, grub.
We usually order the lunch Roadie — a too-sweet slab of meat, smothered in sauteed onions, served on a sizzling fajita plate. For around $8.95, you can get the Roadie (or any of several other lunch specials) with a side of baked potato, fries, homemade potato chips (a personal favorite), or — Clyde’s favorite — steamed green broccoli. The unsweet tea, no longer served in bell jars, is freshly brewed. The little plate of oven-fresh rolls is a soft, piping-hot delight.
Honestly? We go for the service about as often as we go for the food. Roadhouse employs a wonderful, mentally-challenged doorwoman who, in addition to delivering the pre-scripted "specials speech" with much sincerity, also lights up like a Christmas tree every time she sees us. With every greeting, she makes my heart glad.
The waitstaff remembers our drink orders. They’ve also caught on to the fact that Clyde and I are always together — so the "one check or two?" question comes up less and less. Best of all, the crew are also savvy to the fact that we’re a couple … and this seems to get us even more attention and even better service.
(That’s a change, by the way. Years ago, Roadhouse lost our business because managers, going table to table to check on dining experiences, consistently avoided the tables of same-sex couples. If you left back then, as we did, it’s time for a return trip.)
The crew’s friendly and attentive, and the food, while a tad on the greasy side, can be pretty darn good if you don’t stray too far from the burgers and steaks. Unlike copy-cat Logan’s, the faux-Australian Outback, or the hopelessly red-necky Lone Star, the Roadhouse deserves your lunch time dollars (especially since, with one of the frequent diner cards, every fifth lunch is free). Stop in.
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