Wrinkly Bits
A Blog by Gail Cushman
Yesterday was a crackerjack day, blue, sunny skies and blooming flowers. The temp was in the lower 70s and perfect for taking a ride in Cowboy’s Mustang convertible with the top down. It was Friday and we always go on a Friday night date, no matter what. Last night we drove to the Edgar Bar in Edgar, MT for our date. If you live in Montana, you’ll recognize the name. If you don’t, well, you need to know, so I’ll tell you.
Edgar is a town of 102 people in South Central Montana. The last time I checked it the population was 104, so it looks like it’s on the downhill slide. It lies about 22 miles from our house, a most pleasant drive in a red Mustang Convertible in 70-degree weather. Cody likes it, too. Edgar has a post office and a bar, the Edgar Bar, and that’s about it. You must have a reservation to eat there, so if I forget to call, we are SOL. But I did remember to call and they had our name on the list and soon I was drinking a glass of wine and checking the menu.
We ordered our usual, a New York rib steak, shared of course. We added prawns. They serve honey whole wheat bread, fresh salads, homemade soup, and of course, an Idaho baker. It is a meal to die for. We were told the steak “used to live on a ranch down the road,” and it tasted mighty good.
Cowboy got out his credit card, on track to pay for the dinner, and no one came. People came and left while we sat there, patiently waiting. I was seriously thinking of dessert, when a lady named Trisha came by and said, “Do you know my niece?” She showed me a Facebook post/picture the cowboy just took. He always takes a picture of our Friday night dates and sneaks it on FB, usually saying a few nice words. “Nope,” I said, staring at the picture of a pretty girl on her phone.
She shared that they had just bought the Edgar Bar in January of this year and we chatted for a moment about Paris. (France, not Texas.) Only in Montana will the owner walk up and before long you are sharing romantic stories and laughing at the joys of life. “I grew up just down the road, did you know my dad?” she asked and Cowboy shared he knew some of the families.
Cowboy, feeling guilty about all the people waiting to be seated tried to give her the credit card, “Oh, no charge. It’s been taken care of.”
“Who? What? Why?”
“Not telling, we are sworn to secrecy.”
We don’t know who comped us our dinner, but Thank You! It was a wonderful meal, with a big surprise at the end.
We walked out to the red Convertible, Cowboy said, “Now for a pineapple Malt.” I should know better, and said “No way.” In a New York Rib Steak minute, we pulled under the cover at the Rockvale Drive Inn, the only Drive Inn in two counties and we enjoyed a malt and shake while listening to the Rightous Brothers at full blast. As we got ready to drive off, a cowgirl strode by and said, “Be careful out there in your hot rod Mustang,” as she touched Cowboy’s arm hanging out the window.
Sunset over the Beartooths was spectacular as Alan Jackson crooned about the Neon Rainbow. Yep, it was a pretty good Friday night date.
