Miss Peach

I've had a running joke with my extended family for about 21 years now, one that tends to take place at a restaurant in Michigan that we've been going to once a year for as long as I can remember. The Dam Site Inn opened in 1953 and is about a half hour away from where we go. My great-grandparents, Pop and Caroline, were their first and only customers on opening night back then, and the story goes that Pop gave the owner a talk about how he had to hang in there, people would come and they'd turn a profit. There used to be a picture of Pop and Caroline on the wall, but apparently there was a fire decades ago and the photo burned. (All of this has been handed down to us by my father and uncle, so I can't vouch for it. I think it's the truth, but they aren't the most reliable storytellers.)

There are many reasons why I love the Dam Site, and few have to do with the food. (By the way, they have a lot on the menu, but should you find yourself there, the chicken dinner is really the only thing to get.) Firstly, it's in the middle of nowhere. It's fun to pile all 22 of us into various cars and head out there for dinner. When I was little, we had CB radios in the cars for some unknown reason, and I vividly recall my cousin Keith wishing me a happy birthday over it that at the time (I had just turned 6) made me think that the DJ on the radio was giving me my own little shout-out.

Secondly, the place hasn't changed since it opened. It's hard to tell on the photos in the site, but the bar, for instance, is exactly the same as it was in 1953. It's so outdated now it's hip. They have all these funny old-school glasses that anywhere else I would call crappy, but there I call cool. It's very mod-in-the-50s, and it's a style I notice restauranteurs and bar owners spending a fortune on emulating here in NYC. They should really just go to the Dam Site, take some photos, and go to it.

Another--and this may be my favorite--funky thing about the place is the sign by the entrance to the lounge/hostess area, which is a message board (one of those ones with ridges that you fit the white plastic letters into) resting on an easel. It's in an ornate gold frame with glass and reads "WELCOME ALL YOU LOVELY PEOPLE". If I ever get married, I'm totally either borrowing or replicating that sign at the reception. No one will get the joke, but I don't care. I love it.

And then--the mints. The mints! They're those unwrapped old-school chalky white ones, and there's nothing better than grabbing and handful for the ride home. They're actually kind of disgusting, but it's tradition, so you have to have them. I'm now the recipient of half-chewed ones from my little cousins who bite into them and then spit them out, which is a time-honored tradition I once took part in.

Now, for the food. Firstly, they serve a relish tray that is a toss-back to times long gone. It's got leeks and radishes in a vase-like holder on top, and then there are all these little compartments surrounding it on the bottom which contain: corn relish, pickled watermelon rinds, canned peaches, pickle rounds, beets, and a few other things I cannot remember. And they serve you a basket of crackers--an assortment of saltines, ritz crackers, and other out-of-the-box varieties. And then the chicken dinner. It's good--it's fried chicken, and peas, and mashed potatoes, which are fine. But the noodles and the biscuits are to DIE for. It's gotten to the point where I have one small chicken breast and then just eat the noodles and biscuits. And since it's all you can eat, we always get a ton more biscuits right towards the end, and then take them back for breakfast. Warmed up with butter and jam... yum. My perfect breakfast.

But, wait, I started off by talking about the joke right? Sorry about that. So when I was about 6, my uncle started sticking salt or pepper packets in my jacket, which of course scandalized me because it was stealing. Over the years, it escalated to butter packets and silverware. I finally got back at my cousin's boyfriend by slipping a spoon into his jacket, and he didn't find it until the next time he put that jacket on, for a wedding 9 months later. Nice payoff! But as hard as I'd try to be on guard, my uncle, dad or cousins always got me. Two years ago, they loaded my purse with the chalky mints, and when I say loaded, I mean they put hundreds in there. That bag still has white dust coating the inside.

So this year, my guard was up, and I put my purse directly under my feet at the table. At the end of the night we all went outside to mill around before piling in the cars. We got out there, and I opened my purse to get my phone, where I found a foot-long pepper mill from the table. I was speechless, grabbed and held it up, and looked at my family with my mouth open, and they all burst out laughing. Apparently Ayden, my 4-year-old cousin, had been sent under the table to put it in my purse.

I need to get back at them next year, so all or any suggestions welcome. And no, I didn't return the pepper mill. What was I going to say, "This somehow wound up in my purse!"? Plus, I kind of wanted to keep it. That was a feat!