Hardening of the Arteries, or “Highwaysclerosis”

I travel around a bit, and I have very much come to dislike the process of getting from Point A to Point B on our nation’s freeways. It used to be that you could pull off at most of the rural exits in our country and, after gassing up, find a bite to eat and cup of Joe at Carrie’s Diner or Pop’s or The Vanderbilt Sip and Bite. And I’m talking about the city of Vanderbilt, not the rich family. If you were lucky, there would be some just-made soup and a good slice of homemade pie to finish it off with. If it was breakfast time, you’d want to ask which way the cook liked to make the potatoes, and get those. The best places had jam in a sugar bowl with a little spoon, and there was often a honey bear on every table. Sadly, that’s not the case anymore. Now, if you’re within 50 miles of a large urban area, what you’ll find along the interstate are Panera Bread franchises, fast food and maybe a Bob Evans. Perhaps a Cracker Barrel, the most inadvertently appropriately named restaurant I can think of. Finding a great local restaurant within hailing distance of a freeway exit is like finding a $100 bill lying on the sidewalk. Everything within half a mile is coated with corporate plaque. Our automotive circulatory system has hardening of the arteries. It is sad that local groceries, local bakeries and local book stores have so often been driven from the landscape by mega-corporations intent on mining main street for every last dollar from the American public to send off to yacht owners on Long Island. I want there to be a guy (who has the same last name as the sign over the door of the hardware store) to answer my questions about which hose attachments will last a few years longer, and which screwdriver will give me the most leverage on a screw I can’t get out. So it is a great feeling to watch what is going on in the world of craft beverages. You can find personality and heritage on the grow in beer, mead, cider and craft distilling. There are once again reasons to head for Ferndale and Kalamazoo and Dexter Michigan. You can find a place where the décor is not shipped in and unpacked from boxes, accompanied by a template that tells you which wall is supposed to have which poster. The beer or mead will be good, sometimes great, and there will almost always be one or two that will tell you what the owner/meadmaker/brewer actually loves. At Schramm’s, you’ll find meads that will practically punch you in the face with fruit and honey flavor, and right down the street at B. Nektar, you’ll find sparkling, fun meads from combinations of tastes that will set your mind spinning. By the time you get done, you’ll know why we wish that Ferndale had a hotel, or a bed and breakfast. But then, you can stop by Assagi or Local or Flytrap, or Toast or Mae’s, or any one of a bunch of locally owned joints, and get your stomach full and your head clear. That is how it should be in America. Freedom of choice is worthless without choices. If it takes brewers and meadmakers to give America back its sense of self and purpose, we may be in good hands. These are hard workers, who love their fellows, and who are giving of themselves until it hurts. They are the statins we need to treat our cultural hardening of the arteries.