In our short fifteen-hour visit to Elmira, Oregon, we managed to roll into Our Daily Bread Restaurant twice. First in the evening for an amazing chicken dinner with the strongest apple martini I’ve ever had and then in the morning for an organic egg breakfast, complete with potatoes and local coffee. Apparently, my Uncle Julian and Aunt Linda eat there several times a week and have become BFFs with one of the waiters, Marshall. I can see why they like this restaurant, as it’s set in an old church and has stain glass windows throughout. In the evenings, a man plays the piano as people sip wine and talk about the good old days.
Of course, that’s not what we talked about. Conversations with my Uncle Julian and Aunt Linda have been known to include topics like vice grips, prison reform, Brass Foo dogs, horse breeding, and Victorian sex habits.
Yes, Victorian sex habits. Somehow our discussion about marriage digressed into a most interesting conversation about upper class women who were brought up to believe that sex was unnatural and shocking. In fact, it appears that back then, there was no sex education, which means that most women were…um… rather surprised when they woke up to meet the one-eyed-snake on their wedding night. Lower class women, on the other hand, were hot to trot and were often the ones who serviced the upper class men while their wives hid in the broom closets. As my uncle put it, women were told to “close their eyes, spread their thighs, and think of England.”
Right then.
Here’s a picture of us all standing in front of, you guessed it, Our Daily Bread.
I’m not sure what Chris is looking at or what I’m laughing at, but I am sure it was something my Uncle Julian said. He has one of the best senses of humor I’ve ever experienced. I can’t wait to go back and visit again.
There’s nothing like having a self-righteous goal to make a blog and a Wedding Road Trip worthwhile. Since we’re egotists of the highest level, we have several: eating local, working out every day, and doing the whole wedding thing on the cheap. Yes, we pat ourselves on the back daily for our piety and often give ourselves cookies (locally-made, of course).
So it shouldn’t surprise you how excited we were to stumble upon a quaint little local pizza joint in Dunsmuir, California. The Pizza Factory boasts a wall of high school jerseys, a game room of arcade delights, and colorful local patrons who chat it up at the counter. When we walked into the restaurant, Chris and I looked at each other and nodded sagely. Finally, we were experiencing the real America that we had been dreaming about since we started planning the trip. We ate our food and jumped back in the car, vowing to write a blog about our first local restaurant of the trip.
As I was preparing the blog, however, I quickly found out that the Pizza Factory isn’t a local restaurant, rather, it’s part of a huge franchise that spans Colorado, Idaho, Nevada, and several other states. In fact, if I were so inclined, I could start my very own Pizza Factory franchise in San Francisco by calling (800) 654-4840.
Nice. So basically we screwed our entire objective at the very first place we went to eat. Who’s self-righteous now?
That being said, it did cause me to think about another option for small business owners in the United States. If owning your own local business isn’t in your financial cards, a franchise might very well be the next best option. Many companies who franchise offer some flexibility to their franchise owners, allowing them to infuse local flavor into their establishments. Applebees is an example of a franchise that does just that, although, they all look exactly the same and are basically covered with framed flea market finds.
The Pizza Factory in Dunsmuir, however, was surprisingly fresh, hence its ability to trick Chris and me into thinking it was a local joint. The staff was friendly, the food was good, and the decor made me feel right at home. Chris was desperate to play a game of Ms. Pacman, but unfortunately, time was short and the road to Eugene long.
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