Friday was a sad day. I had some business at the Sequoyah County Courthouse, straightening out the final details of Mom's estate. I guess I had been unconsciously putting it off because these were the final details in her passing. Now, the process is over. We drove from the courthouse to the humble little house that she loved so dearly. I spent a quiet hour sitting there in a good recliner in the place that my Dad's chair had always occupied.
My cousin and friend Jim Brannon died last week. The Funeral was Friday afternoon at the Gans Assembly of God Church. Remarkably, even in passing Jim gave something to us all. Instead of preaching the usual funeral sermon, the young preacher paid his respects to Jim and the family and then preached. He preached quietly but powerfully about the hope
that we can have in Jesus Christ. I am a Calvinist so I seldom say things like this but I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. And then after the sermon, a lovely little Pentecostal lady stood up and sang. She gave a performance that would have been at home in any recording studio. Her voice was sweet and powerful. And again, full of hope. I suspect that the musicians in heaven will be mostly Pentecostals.
After the funeral, we drove back to Sallisaw to see Sheila's sister who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She will soon be facing surgery and radiation treatments. As we were leaving, Daphene admitted that she had been feeling "a little blue" and that we always seemed to just show up at the right time. It was a nice compliment.
As I headed out of town, I decided to stop at a pawn shop or two and inquire about the guns that were recently stolen from our farm. One remarkably candid pawnbroker told me that some of the local pawnbrokers do not record all of their purchases with law enforcement. While I was grateful for that piece of information, I was also coldly furious that local law enforcement was not all over those folks. Sequoyah County is not so big that local LEO's can't make life unbearably tough for a pawnbroker or junk shop dealer that plays fast and loose with stolen merchandise. That meant I could not rely on the pawn shop intake reports the local LEO's receive and I would have to begin paying a visit to every pawnbroker and junk shop in the region. The guns that were taken were only worth a couple of hundred dollars but they have great sentimental value to me since they were gifts from my father. I want them back and intend to find them or the identity of the person who took them.
After all of that, I was in kind of a black mood but Sheila was ready for an adventure. She had heard about this fabulous little restaurant out in the middle of nowhere on the west side of Lake Tenkiller near Tahlequah. But, she couldn't remember the name. We wasted several minutes trying to find data coverage for our phones in Sallisaw before giving up on finding it online. Sheila then called her childhood friend Jackie (Tullos) McKenzie to get directions. Jackie is a semi pro lady bass fisherman who knows Lake Tenkiller like her own backyard. She quickly put us on the right track.
However, getting from I-40 west to Qualls, Oklahoma is another matter entirely. First, we drove one exit too far and got off at Webber Falls, on the wrong side of the river. We then had to backtrack and cross the river again on 40 east to get back to Gore, where Oklahoma Highway 100 North takes you up the west side of the Lake until you reach "Indian Road" which you follow until you reach Burnt Cabin Marina where you turn off the blacktop onto a gravel road that climbs up through the Cherokee Nation Game Management Area. After seven or eight miles of that you know that you have arrived at Jincy's Kitchen because there is once again blacktop on the roads.
I seldom say this about a restaurant but .... Jincy's Kitchen is an Oklahoma treasure. A lot of places try to cash in on the country kitsch, home cookin' concept. Most of them wind up being nothing more than glorified fast food served in a room full of faux antiques nailed to the walls by people who wouldn't know real southern home cooking if you force fed it to them. I have a high standard for these things and I have to say, Jincy's is the real deal.
The building is the original Jincy's Mercantile that was built by the current owner Debbie Rucker's great grandmother in 1935. The interior of Jincy's looks just like what it was, an old fashioned
Mercantile store. The shelves are still there and the walls are lined
with things Garrett's Snuff glasses and little red Prince Albert cans.
It smells like your mother's kitchen. There are no fake antiques and corny kitsch in this place. I remember these old country stores and this one is the real deal right down the the wood stove and flooring worn silky smooth by decades of wear. The building was used as the set for the general store in the movie "Where the Red Fern Grows."
You don't come to Jincy's if you are in a hurry. Everything is cooked to order and they will warn you that the fried chicken, which is cooked in a black iron skillet, takes at least half an hour. It is worth the wait. Sheila had the chicken fried steak. I need to mention that they cut their own beef and that it is never frozen. That chicken fry started out as a piece of good beef not as an over-sized frozen minute steak. It was the best chicken fried steak I have tasted in decades. It is even better than the legendary Nelson's Buffeteria chicken fry here in Tulsa.
I had the fried chicken. It was perfect, old fashioned, southern fried chicken. It was lightly coated so that you actually tasted the chicken and not the breading. It was moist, tender and perfectly
seasoned. From the taste of it, the chicken was fresh as well and had never been frozen. The mashed potatoes were real, cooked with real butter and evaporated milk. The gravy was heavy, rich and a perfect compliment. I also had the pinto beans. Pinto beans are the mark of a real southern cook. Few people get them right anymore. Jincy's beans are perfectly cooked and lightly seasoned so that you taste the beans instead of the broth. And, they were freshly cooked. I don't know how Debbie Rucker stole my grandmother's yeast roll recipe but by golly she had it. The roll was freshly cooked, light, airy and tasted exactly like our family recipe. The portions are generous and you may not have room for dessert. But, don't let that stop you from ordering it to go. Debbie's chocolate pie with real meringue on top is also authentic and sinfully delicious.
What kind of people eat at Jincy's? Last night, there were two hunters who had spent the day in the nearby game preserve. There was also a small group of senior citizens from Owasso. And, a couple from Tahlequah and their bank officer son from Tulsa drove down in a 1935 Model A Ford. And of course, there we were, a limping old Tulsa lawyer and his ever adventuresome biz school grad wife.
We chatted with Debbie for a moment before we left. When I told her the
food tasted just like Mom's cooking, she beamed. Debbie is justifiably
proud of her place and its heritage. Jincy's Kitchen is as much an
icon of Oklahoma culture as the nearby mansion at Park Hill. The building alone is
an ad hoc museum of depression era life. The food and the generous
attitude it is served with are living re-creations of a vital part of the best
of Okie culture. The experience is well worth the drive.
Here is a link to Jincy's Facebook page:
Jincy's Kitchen.
Seating is family style and so is the service. We were seated and waited while the 1:00 o'clock buffet line was set up. We recognized a few faces from our last trip over and spoke to them briefly. As a matter of fact, the whole crowd was friendly. When the meal was ready, the proprietor Debbie Rucker came out and announced "We say grace here over our meal." She said it in a sweet but firm Okie voice that gently proclaimed, "You're in my place in the Oklahoma hills and this is our heritage. If you don't like it, get over it." God bless her. I'm sure her ancestor Jincy would have been proud of her. Grace was offered by a local businessman who sounded exactly my Baptist ancestors. I've heard that prayer or its equivalent a thousand times and offered it many times myself. But, it was still sweet and comforting to hear it again. It gave me the feeling that even though I was in the midst strangers for the most part, I was still at home in the unique culture I love so dearly. I have nothing but pity and disgust for those self hating Okies who turn their back on or worse make fun of their rich cultural heritage. 
I really don't know how to describe the food. It was real home cooking done right by good cooks. The turkey, ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, dressing, sweet potatoes, green beans, corn and pinto beans were all perfect. The best way I can describe it is to say that it tasted like my mom and grandma's cooking when they got it right. For dessert, I had just a sliver of pecan pie, chocolate pie and huckleberry cobbler. The pecan pie is the best I have ever tasted. Sorry Mom. Sorry Gwenda. This is the best. Same with the chocolate pie. Best ever.
checks and thinning out. We left after a while, visited a bit more in the parking lot and then called it a day. My only regret is that I could not arrange for Daphene to get her photo taken with one of the Model A Fords in the parking lot that some of the folks had driven up in. She wanted to borrow my pistol, hike her leg up on the running board and pose like Bonnie of Bonnie and Clyde. Unfortunately, the folks driving the Model A's got away before we could ask them for permission. I will make that happen for her yet. Other than that, I wouldn't change a thing.
