O’Steen’s

 

 A mix of locals and tourists have been queueing up, sitting under the awning on that long wooden bench outside, for more than 50 years. Not the same people for that long mind you, but sometimes when Carla insists that we wait, it feels that way to me.

Not equipped with a “let's get in line and wait” gene, I always want to go eat somewhere else when the line is too long. John Wayne and Elvis could come back to earth, happy to autograph 8 x10 glossies for the crowd. I wouldn’t wait in line.  For Carla though, there’s that antique/junk store next door so we wait.

Well, I wait while she goes inside and touches absolutely everything in the place, especially the stuff with the “Do Not Touch” signs.

She makes me stay, unswayed by my petulance, as she dances joyfully off to bond with all the same kind of old and interesting (junk) that is already stuffed into every corner of our house.

Sooner than expected, the hostess calls out our name over the speaker system. It’s even wired into the antique store. Smart. Diners browse, maybe buy something, waiting to hear their names called out. Win-win.

On our first visit some 40 years ago, I balked. No booths. No beer. Cash only. Spotting another diner under the age of 40 is rare. Sometimes it seems like an oxygen tank and three-headed cane may be part of the required dress code.

There’s a good reason for that though. The older crowd no longer care about the trappings, the “cool” factor has no relevance. What does?

Great food at a great price. Good service with a smile.

The best “home cooking” in town. Want some crunchy perfect fried chicken? Maybe a big slice of meatloaf with gravy? Try the daily specials. The big draw for all these years though has been the lightly fried local shrimp. Butterflied, hot, awesome. You want 9 or 12? Some pink sauce with a dash of Datil heat?

Carla and I split the 24 platter, the best deal.

It's simple, really. I’m 74 now and no longer care much about the beer, booth, music, or the cool factor nearly as much as I care about reliably outstanding Southern style food, at a fair price.

Oh, and Osteen’s has always had the best staff as well. Long time waitresses we’ve seen dozens of times. Been there forever. (Must be a good place to work.)

Ready with cash, we carry our Styrofoam treasure up to the cashier. Eternally cheerful, concerned to know that everything was up to par. It is.  She beams. Actually, always more than up to par.

We walk out, “God blessed” by the cashier.

No longer pouting, happily stuffed with some of the best fried shrimp…anywhere. I leave the Styrofoam out on the kitchen counter, looking forward to more of the same later in the day.

My wife is wonderful. She makes me do stuff I never want to, stuff that I insist I won’t do. Then I’m always happy that I did. How does she know?

Carla hugs the sunny cashier when we leave. Funny that something so totally out of character for me and so natural for her, makes me smile inexplicably like the Cheshire cat every time I remember it. 

If you haven’t been to the fort, walked St George Street, and eaten at O’Steen’s… you’ve never been to St Augustine.