The Brown Jug

Kel and I regularly get out together, which baffles many people who can't imagine parents of 9 children EVER getting a moment alone. Ten years ago I would have understood the awe. But, we've been blessed with having our children one at a time, over a period of about two decades. The result is, of course, that the nine babies are not babies all at once. We now have "older" children who regularly provide babysitting for little to no financial compensation save the McDonald's caramel sundae Dad might bring home, or the promise of a night out of their own.

As a couple we highly value our time together, even if it's just driving in a car. Lately, though, we've been avoiding the 30 minute drive into town and staying local. Of course, this greatly reduces the evening's options. Offerings in our stoplight-less small town include Subway, McDonald's, and $1 hotdogs with fill-up... which honestly, for me, is just one step above a diaper retrieving excursion from Walmart. Recently, however, we have happened across a little local gem called The Brown Jug. It's a tavern!

The attraction for me is not the typical tavern escapades of bellying up to a bar for a few Miller Lites. I understand the bar camaraderie of meeting people and having a few beers, but I've never regarded myself as a tavern type of person. No, I go for a different reason. The Brown Jug has weekly kitchen specials, and my new hands-down favorite is the Monday night Bacon Cheeseburger basket for $3.50, "run through the garden" and with a side of fries.* Honestly, the burger is delicious and more than satisfies that "I Gotta Have A Big Hunka Protein" craving. And add it up: even with a beer it's a cheap date.

Now, those who don't know me would be very surprised to see me sitting in a bar, especially on a Monday night. It just looks bad that a mother of nine starts her week out in a location that could raise a few eyebrows. Admittedly, it's not like this is Book Discussion Night at the library. But I'm not going to try to hide my big white 15 passenger van by parking out back, because those who know me know I drink at home. (And it's not because I'm ashamed that a few bottles in my wine collection are from Aldi.) My real friends already know that I'll rarely turn down an offering of a cold beer, or two. They know I've even stretched myself to enjoy the likes of a pomegranate martini or an iced tea infused vodka. I'm quick to admit I am an imbiber.** My real friends also know I'm just too cheap to pay double the price in a bar in exchange for smokey ambiance and the marginal excitement of watching electronic dart throwers.

Now, I doubt I'll end up being a pub crawler, but it surprises even me that I have come to enjoy grabbing a beer and a bite to eat at The Brown Jug. Even better, I fully expect a few of my friends will join me. And won't they be surprised when the bartender calls me by name when we walk in the door and take a seat at my usual table! "Hey, Nooooooorrrrmmmm!"
Cheers.


* "With everything". Fries are 75 cents extra.
** Before my husband gets pegged as being married to a lush, keep in mind that I've had extensive pregnancy/nursing interludes, so my drinking days have been quite numbered. Someday I'll catch up.