One great, free Arkansas festival.

A perfect little break in the summertime heat... made better by a taste of heaven.

That's my impression of this year's Cave City Watermelon Festival. After a couple of weeks of temperatures dawdling around the 100s, the weather broke Thursday night and evened out into a relatively cool (for August) mid-80s range. Before the weather break, I'd actually toyed with the idea of skipping this year's festival -- there are just some things you can't quite handle in this condition. I was thankful to feel the change in the air -- and Saturday morning I pointed my car towards north central Arkansas.

There were plenty of others heading that way, too. I stopped for gas and overheard a family talking about their plans for the day, and grinned. It was nice.

The sun was taking its sweet time in between peeks from the cloud cover, but no one seemed to be complaining. I drove up and found a spot not too far from all the activities, under a broad tree that provided some necessary shade.

The car show was in full swing -- with exhibitors sharing their expertise and pride in their vehicles. Unlike
some shows, this one isn't just about cars classified as antiques. High school students proudly share their achievements in fixing up the family car, or a stereo system, and these more modern cars share a field with rows of classic Model As and GTOs and the like. Some show off trophies, while others spice up their entries with novelty music or car seat covers. There are even some that feature figurines -- like a Boston terrier pup sniffing the wheels, or a tiny mechanic peering through a grill.

The colors at the show are bright, the music is everywhere... but nothing too loud to share a conversation over. Owners related their expertise to each other and to those passing through the rows... one even offered a cool drink. Lookee-lous captured shots on film and digital camera, and children flitted back and forth, gawking.

I made my way towards the center of the park, where the festivities were already underway. I could hear a harmonica wailing in the distance.

Children clambered over the playground, and parents watched from a distance, chattering among themselves while focusing on the equipment and their young charges.

Older gentlemen were sharing stories over the tractor display -- some tractors out-aging even the octogenarians in the crowd. The wind kicked up a little, and there was an almost felt sigh from attendees who welcomed the movement.

The first stop inside the main portion of the festival was at the festival pavilion, where everyone was handed a Dollar General bag that contained a couple of pens and a Mardi Gras beaded necklace with a big Cave City Watermelon Festival medallion. There was also a program, sharing what was coming up in the afternoon. The sacks, I came to find later, was for those watermelon rinds... a good idea, for sure.

The crowd was starting to thin out a bit, as many of the festival-goers took off for lunch. Some were headed on foot down to Sonic, a few blocks away and a major sponsor for the event. The drive-in was featuring watermelon slushees... what else would they offer?

Others were headed back to their cars to grab a bite of lunch from coolers and picnic baskets. I decided it was a good time to take a brief leave and head out on a mission.

After all, could I really leave Cave City without some of this year's bumper crop?

I noticed as I passed that the lot for Hometown Grocery was full -- and there were a couple of guys carrying out ice. Gotta have the right supplies.

I pulled back out on Highway 167 and headed north. First stop was the Perkey place, but strangely enough there were no watermelons today -- just a self-service stand selling tomatoes, squash, and peppers. I put my money in the jar and left with a pint of almost too-red tomatoes, plump and fragrant. These will no doubt be part of my lunch these next few days.

I went on up to the Johnson Brother's place. Every year I get one of their sweet reds, and this year was no exception. This year was a little different. Sure, I've craved my share of watermelon, but for the most part I've abstained -- since grocery store watermelon just can't compare. So it was that the first sweet bite of watermelon I consumed this summer came at the end of a farmer's pocket knife -- because as always there was one big melon already opened and sliced for sampling. One of the guys helped me with the two $5 melons I picked out and put them in my trunk, already lined with towels to keep them from rolling on the way home.

Back down the highway then, to George and Brian Carter's stand on the main drag. It seemed like the whole clan might have been out -- there were easily a dozen people under the big pavilion. A couple of the teenage boys hauled more melons to my car to take home. Unlike the dark green rind of the Johnson reds, these reds have a light green face with a few darker green stripes.

The whole operation of heading down the road and making my three stops took me less than 40 minutes, and I was soon back parking in the shade again.

The park was beginning to fill up. Some folks had come out and decided to eat on-site, which wasn't a bad choice. Several of the local churches were offering cheap eats -- like the $2.75 burger at the Free Will Baptist Church stand. Drinks were $1 for water and 75 cents for soda.

For the more adventurous, there were some true festival foods. One booth offered a plethora of fried foods -- fried green tomatoes, fried pickles (they're becoming more popular around here lately), ribbon fries, sweet potato fries,












sour cream fries, deep fried Oreos, deep fried Twinkies, and Apple Dumplings --
presumably also deep-fried. Another offered the almost impossible to conceive of combination of Reuben sandwiches and frog legs. There was also an Ozark Kettle Corn vendor and the inflatable ice cream stand.

A steady stream of visitors passed by the wagon bearing the winners of the watermelon contests. This year there was an unusual entry on the end -- a stage-decorated box bearing the "Melon of the Opera," a masked entry into the competition.

It took the end, but didn't conceal the other entries -- big, healthy, shiny melons of varying colors.

The names here were familiar -- Penn, Patterson, Wooldridge, Perkey. There are six families that continue the watermelon growing tradition around here, and it's always a tight battle to see who can bring home the ribbons in any given year.

One of the younger festival-goers seemed to take special interest in the melons. He'd go up to each one, put his ear to it, and thump it with his fist, tuning his ear to decide for himself how good these melons were.

I wandered on and checked out the stands. Though there didn't seem to be as many as there were when I last visited in 2006, there was no slacking of
enthusiasm. I did a double-take, wondering what I was spying under one pop-up tent, before realizing the young man beneath was only receiving a temporary, air-brushed tattoo. Other vendors were selling jewelry, t-shirts, toys, sunglasses, bags -- all sorts of things. These were mostly small
business people in the area -- there were just a few that seemed to be on the festival circuit. Teenagers were bearing what is apparently the fair fashion this year -- brightly colored hair sprays. Whatever happened to face painting?

Up towards the gate at the northeast corner, members of the Cruisadors were handing out water to the thirsty for free. The Christian-Riders-United-In-Spirit-And-Determined-On-Rescuing-Souls Cruisadors is a chapter of ABBA, the Arkansas Baptist Bikers Association. Several kids of all ages were checking out the sweet rides and asking questions.

Not far away, a young woman was trying her hand at climbing a rope at the rock wall booth. She was giggling so hard I thought she might fall. A young man tried the wall next, but was less successful in his attempt.

I stopped by one of the bank booths (there were three) and picked up a welcomed fan. While the air was much nicer than previously expected, a good fan helped move the air a bit more.

A little further down, a crowd had formed to enter a drawing for a small yellow car.

Each person would write their information on a little slip of paper and press it through the window into the car itself. I suppose that's easier than keeping up with a bunch of entry boxes!

Across the park, the fire department had sat up a dunking booth. The guy in the booth was trading jabs with a guy who hadn't been able to sink him on six successive throws. A family came up, paid for their balls, and a young boy started his aim from the youngster's line. He threw two balls in rapid succession -- and down went the victim into the drink. He came up from the water laughing, apparently pleased at the dunking, and congratulated the young man.

The crowd was growing under the trees, as families brought out their chairs and set up for the day. I took the opportunity to go grab mine from the car, as the Gaylon Sandefur Band broke into their popular song, "Chicken Truck on Highway 25." That one drew quite a few chuckles.

There aren't really any bad seats out on the lawn -- the park was set out well, with the bandstand placed on the edge of the natural bowl. The audio guy was doing his job well -- everyone could hear well without anyone really being blasted out. I set up my chair and pulled out my water bottle and notepad.

The youngest member of the Sandefur group, Roger Gardner, broke into a rendition of Bob Segar's "Old Time Rock & Roll" and a few of the kids in the crowd danced on blankets thrown out on the ground. I caught a glimpse of one of the locals in a festival t-shirt and giggled. This year's theme was "Dripping with Sweetness." Indeed.

The wind was lolling through the crowd, bringing with it the ruffle of the air sock from the Sno-Cone concession, the scent of syrup and funnell cakes and fried onions, and the dull roar of a hundred different conversations.

The atmosphere at the festival was rather laid back. People would come out, set up their chairs and coolers, and then walk off -- completely unconcerned about whether someone might come along and disturb their possessions. It's a relaxed attitude you don't see at the larger carnivals. There's a sense of trust that's assumed and sacred at these small-town festivals, and I am thankful for it.

The Gaylon Sandefur Band kept going with a fine selection of crowd pleasing pop and bluegrass hits. I noticed among those in the crowd a number of people who
had brought tiny dogs. The crowd, for the most part, talked rather than hollered, and many were just kicking back with closed eyes and listening to the music.

As the band kicked into "I Just Took A Trip To Heaven" the scent of barbeque wafted up from the concessions. Kids were playing in the grass, and one young boy was challenging all comers with his bank-provided fan.

There was a pause in the music, as James Mack Street took the stage for the quilt raffle. As the quilt was brought out for display, the audio guy played a pre-recorded announcement, thanking the sponsors for the event.

And they do deserve that thanks -- unlike many other festivals, the Cave City Watermelon Festival is entirely free. The parking is free, the car show is free, the concerts and the contests and everything else -- everything, that is, except the vendor's wares -- but that's to be expected, these people have to make a living, after all. Even the watermelon is free.

Annie Hughes made this year's quilt, and it was a beauty. I hopefully
guarded my raffle ticket, but alas it wasn't my day... a lady from Cabot took the prize. One of the guys by the stage immediately offered her $200 for it, but she just grinned and grabbed the big blanket. Good for her -- it was a mighty fine quilt.


Before the band started playing again, Mr. Street mentioned that the announcements weren't usually his job. They usually fall to Charles Landers, who's under the weather. Mr. Street mentioned that Charles and his wife Anita were a major force behind the festival. There was a loud cheer from the crowd in appreciation.

The band kicked back up again, and I shared brief conversations with a few of the folks who were sitting near me. There was a family there from California, who'd come back to Arkansas to see folks and heard about the festival. I overheard from others that there were people from Chattanooga and from Boston as well. The local couple next to me were just as appreciative of me coming up from Little Rock as those who drove or flew from further away.

The band broke into "Paper Roses," and a few of the older gentlemen in the crowd sang along. Then the young drummer tackled "Wipeout" with amazing vigor.

I decided to wander around and catch a little more of the action. And I noticed that the refrigerated truck had arrived.

I wandered up and joined the small crowd of people who were trading comments with the guys and boys gathered at the back. They all knew what was coming.

We heard a helicopter approach, and some feared the worse. It was an Air Evac Lifeteam copter, and some wondered if there'd been an injury. Later on we'd find out that they were just there for the watermelon.

Four o'clock was approaching, and the growers who'd gathered at the back of the truck decided it was a good time to go ahead and open up. The crowd could feel the rush of cold air as the door was hauled open.

With little further ado, tables were set up in a "U" shape and accoutrements like plastic forks and table salt were set out.

The line was already forming, people anticipating the cool bounty that was about to be laid out for all to enjoy. But there was no real rush. People continued their conversations. Some parents carried babies and toddlers on their hips or shoulders. Stories were shared.

Without much ado, one of the growers turned around and motioned at the boys who'd crawled up inside the truck. The boys started handing out melon after melon in a pass-line to the growers at the front. Three or four of them pulled out big clean
knives and took to splitting the melons up quickly and efficiently in all sorts of sizes.

There was a stir to one side, where the first of the yellow melons had been popped open. Some folks have to have a piece of this rarer delight -- and there was a visual turn of the crowd in that general direction.

The sweet aroma of melon was pervasive, but not too strong -- after all, this is watermelon we're talking about. The line moved steadily and swiftly, as people came up and grabbed their slice and went back to sit down and consume theirs.

Some folks couldn't wait, and propped themselves up next to the nearby tractors to take in their share and be ready to come back for more. After all, it is all-you-can-eat.








The gentleman popping melons nearest me looked up at me a couple of times as I snapped away at pictures. By this point he'd efficiently covered his section of table with slices, and the line was rolling fast.

One of the other guys came up with a pale-rinded melon, gestured over at me, and grinned. The slicer got the message and popped open that yellow melon. I took a few more pictures and then gratefully took the crescent-shaped slice.

I wandered back through the line on my way to my seat. There was a general patience throughout the line --
people chatting and grinning
and pointing.
A couple
of the guys were joshing with a boy who
was wandering back to
the concert field with three giant slices all by
himself.

There were people sitting at pavilion tables carefully exhuming seeds with spoons, and a whole family munching and spitting the seeds a bit further down the way.

Me? I'm a flicker. I sat down in my chair, put my slice on my lap, and used my fork to flick away the seeds on the outside. One of my neighbors on the row passed down a paper towel. You can tell the veterans of the festival -- they bring wetted down washcloths in zip-top bags and paper bags for their laps. I didn't care if I got messy or not -- that's what the change of clothes in my car was for.

The yellow melon was good and meaty -- not as sweet as the red, but more of a mouthful. There are afficianadoes out there who claim up and down that the yellow ones are better, and some who swear by reds. I like them both.

The band had even sat down to enjoy melon themselves. There was a strange calmness, a feeling of fraternity out there on the field -- with the quiet sounds of munching and slurping and whathaveyou. A couple behind me debated whether to go ahead and brave the line, which still reached back past the bandstand. Others didn't hesitate.

All this watermelon -- and it's a lot of watermelon, dozens and dozens of the best of the crop -- is donated by the growers. All of it. Not a dime changes hands. They all work together, and get their selections up on the refrigerated truck. As far as I know, there's never been a watermelon-less festival, and if it keeps up this way there never will be.

Mr. Street got up on stage again and mentioned a couple of things. He reminded everyone to bring their rinds to the truck behind the bandstand and not throw them in the trashcans -- since 55 gallon drums of melon rinds would be far too heavy for the sanitation folks to handle. He also mentioned that the melon auction and the general schedule were going to be moved up a bit, just in case Mr. Landers
was wrong in his prediction and the dry weather didn't hold.

I had eaten my melon down to the rind, and couldn't resist going back for another slice. I slipped my fork behind my ear and tucked my napkin into the cupholder of my chair before getting back up. The back of the truck was already a third of the way full by the time I tossed in my contribution and headed back up to the line.

There was an older couple ahead of me, asking all sorts of questions. The lady had pulled a couple of dollars out of her pocket and was trying to hand them to her husband to pay for their slices. She couldn't believe that a feast like this was free. I shared what I knew about the free food and fare and she just looked at me, amazed. She
smiled and nodded, but I noticed when she got to the front of the line she asked the slicer how
much she owed. That elicited a friendly guffaw, and she and her husband were handed mighty slices.

I'd been about 120 yards back when I

joined the line, but less than five minutes later I was back at the front, and I picked up another colossal slice before heading back to my seat.

The prize winning melons had been carried over to the front of the stage for the auction, and as I sat the first of the melons went on the block.

The first one was the People's Choice, voted on by anyone who wanted to vote and make any size donation to Arkansas Children's Hospital.
This year's People's Choice winner was the Overall Youth Winner, a fine striped specimen from Carson Day and Cobb Gem, and it went for $250. Other melons all burst the $100 mark, providing a fine pool of money for ACH.


By this point, I was satisfied and rather saturated, too. The red melon had not only been sweeter, it had been juicier, and my shorts were soaked with melon juice.

It didn't matter. The breeze joined the moisture to bathe me in Mother Nature's air conditioning, and I was feeling fine.

On other days, I have stayed longer for the evening's entertainment -- but the clouds forming overhead and the two hour solo drive back home convinced me that perhaps I should be making my way back to the parking area. The Gospel Hour Singers were bringing up their equipment to take the stage early, and a couple of people in the crowd had brought out their umbrellas. It was time to go.

As I wandered past the refrigerated truck one more time, I noticed a couple of the growers in deep conversation with
others. One young
man was asking 20
questions about how to grow melons, and how to make them sweet. I overheard the response -- "it ain't hard if you live up here."

The tables and the ground beneath were strewn with seeds and a few wayward slices that had slipped from grasp. Further on, the playground was full of happy, sticky children, playing under overcast skies.

If you find yourself with a couple of free hours, it would do you good to head up to Cave City. The festival itself is over, but along Highway 167 you'll find the Carters, Perkeys, Johnsons, Wooldridges, Penns,
and Pattersons with
their stands along the way.

Pick yourself up a couple of melons -- take one home, take one to your friends to share. I've been enjoying these sweet secrets for more than 10 years, and I have yet to have one disappoint. But don't wait too long -- watermelon season doesn't last forever.

A wonderful oasis of joy in the shade.

Watermelon. The name itself brings the thought of sweetness, summertime, and sharing. There's nothing quite like being outdoors with an iced-down melon, friends, and clothes you don't mind getting dirty.

When I think of watermelon, my mind automatically travels to Cave City. This little burg in North Central Arkansas is tiny -- home to the Cave City Cavemen and little more. But the second weekend of August it grows to encompass hundreds who travel up for the Cave City Watermelon Festival.

The festival itself isn't all that big -- and neither are the melons, for the most part. There are a few monsters here and there -- and they're usually on display.

But what makes a Cave City watermelon better than most is the taste.

Cave City sits in an incredible growing region in Arkansas. The ground contains just the right amount of sand and soil in the appropriate ratios. This good earth creates the world's sweetest melons -- melons that are off the scale in sugar content.

The families that grow them -- the Johnson brothers, the Patterson brothers, the Penns, the Perkeys, the Carters, the Wooldridges and the Doyles -- have been doing this for generations. They have perfecting the taste down to a science.

But growing melons isn't easy. You have to rotate your crops around each year so the soil can recover. You have to provide adequate irrigation. You have to watch for frost and drought and all the things growing things need. And you have to know when the time is right to take the melon from the vine.

That time usually coincides with this upcoming weekend's festival. But there's far more to do than just knosh -- lots more. The three day event kicks off Thursday night, when Cave City Park opens for the judging of this year's entries in the watermelon contests. There are food vendors out there and an open mike on the stage.
The entertainment really gets going around 7 p.m. when Rockin' Luke Stroud hits the stage. Billy Joe French's band follows, along with drawings and other tomfoolery.

Friday night around 6 p.m., Kaleena Hutchins jams out with her harmonica. You might remember her from being on TV with the CBS Early Show -- she was one of the contestants in last year's Living Room Live competition. This 16 year old wonder knows how to make that harmonica wail (you can see her perform by clicking here).
The Cave City Cruisers Car Club Parade follows at 7 p.m., and then Elvis impersonator Radford Ellis takes the stage with his bluegrass-inspired rendition of The King's tunes. The Farris Family rounds out the evening's entertainment.

The fun Saturday starts at 6 a.m. with the annual Kiwanis Pancake Breakfast, a local tradition that starts off the day in a great way. The big parade rolls at 10 a.m. with all the beauty pageant winners and the neat cars. There's a political forum, and then more music from Evonne Baxter and Big Creek, Kaleena Hutchins again, and the Gaylon Sandefur Band.

There's an auto show on the back side of the park, where prizes are won for the amateurs and the pros alike. The scent of barbeque fills the air, as rival grillers peddle their meat.

At one pavilion, you can check out the prize winning melons. Some are big, some are little, all are potentially the best thing you've ever tasted in your life. You read through the entries, and realize that right alongside all the big name growers there are entries from Cave City kids. Here, it's all about the melon.

Along the shady paths you'll find everything from souvenir stands to t-shirts to booths from all the local businesses. Pick up a pen from the bank or a fan from the church. Enter a few drawings. Talk with people -- and you'll find that along with the people from the area there are people that have come from three or four states over. Some 15,000 people came through the Cave City Watermelon Festival in 2006, and they were all greeted with the same warm welcome.

At 4 p.m., an announcement is made from the main stage, and everyone lines up. Out by the ball diamond fence, a refrigerated truck pulls up and tables are put out. Then the growers themselves serve up hunks and chunks of ice cold watermelon -- red, yellow, or orange -- you choose what you want and take however large a piece you think you can handle.

A hush falls over the area. Seeds are spit. Juice runs. Kids run back for more -- and they can have as much as they want -- it's all free.

On Saturday, growers will likely cut up and serve more than a thousand melons. And they're all donated. No need to pay here -- it's all the watermelon you can eat, for free.

After the first round of melon, the prizes are announced -- and the prize watermelons are auctioned off. The money raised goes to Arkansas Children's Hospital. You can take one of these home -- or buy one from one of the family stands that line Highway 167.

Then the afternoon grows friendlier, as families sprawl on blankets and in lawn chairs to enjoy heavenly singing from the Gospel Echoes and the Dixie Melody Boys. They'll sing most of the evening away, pausing for the occasional drawing for prizes and cash. It's a lovely way to spend a day, even with the heat.

The best part is, the festival is free... thanks to the corporate sponsors who help out with this every year. The concerts, the parking, the car show, and the watermelon is free. Vendors do charge for things like ice cream and hamburgers, but they have to pay for what they sell, you know.

To get to the festival from Central Arkansas, take Highway 67/167 north to Bald Knob. Take the exit and head north toward Batesville. Go straight through town and head on up. Once you hit the city limits, look for the turnoff for Cave City Park on the left.

There's more information available at the Cave City Chamber of Commerce website.

And since you'll be up in the area anyway, be sure to stop by one of the family stands along the main drag. There's no sense in keeping these sweet watermelons a secret. Take one home to the family (and some to your friends, too) and help keep a good thing going.

Worst. Hotel. Experience... EVER.

What's the worst hotel experience I've ever had?  The NICE version is on TripAdvisor.

I didn't mention what I found in the middle of the bed in the room that we were given.  I'll just put it this way... I pray it was perhaps a dog's decision to leave waste matter all over the bedcover.  Uck.

The link:

So laid back, you'll want to put your feet up.

So many of our good restaurants in the area are of the fancy sort -- the sort that expects you to wear pants. The sort that looks down upon open-toed sandals and logo t-shirts.

Pizza D'Action is not the place.

I have to admit, I missed out on the great atmosphere over the years. Back in my radio days, I'd be working weekends and would get a call from my friends over at this popular Stiffts Station nightspot with the latest news and gossip about who was dating who and who had drank who under the table. But I wasn't spared the good food. I'd come home to half-boxes of incredible, hand-tossed handmade pizzas loaded with toppings and leftover cheese dip and salsa in styrofoam containers.

Of course, we all grow up and sometimes move away -- as I did. And when I came back, I would visit Stiffts Station often -- but for the shrimp Creole and the po' boys at the Oyster Bar.

But one bright Friday afternoon in July, my traveling companion and I were in the area on our way home and realized a good meal might make the afternoon go better. And there was that sign.

Well, turning into Pizza D isn't easy. If you're heading east, no problem -- just turn right on Woodruff and zip right around to the parking in back. Heading west, though, is problematic -- since there's no left turn onto Woodruff from Markham. We usually go around the block or just take the Woodruff exit from I-630.

There's no getting around the fact that the place is a bit of a dive. The old storefront hides a multitude of what would be considered sins in the designing world today -- black ceiling with exposed ductwork also painted black, dark red brick walls, dark wood-topped tables that all seem to have a knot divot along one side. Sure, there are a few ceiling fans here and there, but the majority of internal light comes from a skylight overhead. From an ecological point of view, it's not bad -- saving the money and electricity -- but if you want to be able to see well, bring a flashlight.

That's not to say that the food isn't worth looking at. On the contrary -- the wide variety of pizzas and sandwiches tend to be on the colorful side. The colorful appearance is only a side-product of good, homemade bar food that goes a little further than you might expect on the way to being excellent.

This is also not the sort of place to get into a hurry. Pizzas here take 25-35 minutes -- enough time to get in a couple of games or to chat up your dining companion. The music is groovy -- angling between the Dead and Elvis Costello, pop hits of the 80s and rock hits of the 90s. And you might get a few surprises to your aural canals when some of the more unusual artists show up on the playlist.

We settled down and were completely unrushed by our server, who was also tending a little bar and doing a little bit of the cook work in the back. We had our drinks quickly, and chose a sampler platter ($5.75) to munch on while we awaited our pie.

Fried items naturally take less time to cook, and we were soon presented with a platter of hot goodies with three types of sauce. The ample repast served to quench my fried zucchini craving, while also serving to quell my companion's desire for something spicy with stuffed jalapenos. A couple of chicken strips and cheese sticks come along for the ride.

Our thirst was never ignored, as plastic tumblers of iced tea and Dr. Pepper seemed to sprout next to our cups every time they came close to dipping to the halfway mark. Better yet, though the company was lovely we were left with our menus to peruse and to determine whether we'd regret missing out on something good.

Like most good bars, there's a good amount of appetizer fare here -- cheese dip, guacamole, salsa, that sort of thing served on chips. There's garlic bread served by the loaf, onion rings by the basket, and even fried artichoke hearts. The usual selection of salads is available (plus the Pizza D'iego Salad -- grilled chicken or chili with salsa and sour cream on your greens).

And of course there's the pizzas. They come in 8", 11", and 15" sizes. The supreme here includes beef, sausage, Canadian bacon, pepperoni, mushrooms, bell peppers, and onions -- and the popular Pizza D'Resistance has all that and salami, too. There's a Cheeseburger pizza with mustard, pickle, and ground beef -- and a Greek with Feta, black and green olives, spinach, tomato, and artichokes. You can also opt for calzones.

There are also quesadillas and a wide range of sandwiches -- and one thing we really liked was that everything on a sandwich is listed on a menu (so no questioning the server whether there's mayo or mustard on any particular bun. One of the more unusual sandwiches is the Camel Rider -- ham, salami, mozzarella, lettuce, and tomato with Italian dressing on a Hoagie Roll ($5.25). Sandwiches come with chips and a pickle spear -- or for a little more, you can splurge on French fries or onion rings.

It took a little while, but our Chicken Parmesan pizza ($11.25 for an 11', 15.95 for a 15") finally came out -- delicious goodness on a crust that hadn't even been born 24 hours before. The crust at Pizza D doesn't taste like most crusts. There's none of that processed taste. It's also thin and fork-worthy, especially with pies that hang heavy with sauce, olive oil, and toppings. We were both pleased with the huge, juicy chunks of tomato and the heavy Parmesan and mozzarella topping. The chicken was pretty savory, too.

I can see now why my friends all chose to hang out at this great place so often. For not a whole lot of money, we had a great meal and pizza left over to take home. And by the time we left, we were both relaxed, kicked back, and comfortable. The only thing that was missing was a good ottoman to kick my feet up on.

You'll find Pizza D'Action at 2919 West Markham in the Stiffts Station neighborhood of Little Rock (between the Capitol area and University Avenue). You can call ahead if you like to (501) 666-5403 if you really want to -- but if you have the time, go kick back and relax with groovy tunes and great eats.

Plentiful Pasta and More.

There are a lot of places to find pizza in Little Rock... a lot of pasta places, too. But just one sticks out in my mind as a great place to find a big bowl of steaming comfort food -- that hallowed institution of roadside diners -- the overflowing bowl of chili mac.

That place is Grady's.

The pizza and sub shop has been around since 1981, and hosted its share of hungry folks wanting a good bite at a great price. Over the years, a few items have been added to the menu -- but in essence, this is still the same great mid-'80s hole-in-the-wall that's taken care of people traveling along West 12th Street.

And what's not to like? The cozy eatery is tucked back in a shopping center, with tab topped curtains on the windows and leatherette topped tables. This is a place to grab some grub. You might not want to bring your prom date here (or maybe you would -- who can tell?) but for good food at great prices, it's hard to beat.

My traveling companion and I ducked in on a Wednesday evening in July to seek out comfort food and iced tea. The hot air outside was no match for the air conditioned comfort within. We seated ourselves in one of the wooden booths along the wall and perused the menu.

There are many good items to choose from on the Italian-American inspired menu. Appetizers are limited to toast varieties and chips, but onward down the menu you'll find a wide selection of signature sandwiches, served up on your choice of homemade onion bread, French rolls, or rye. They're served with a choice of potato salad, potato chips, or cole slaw and come in half and whole sandwiches. Among the many choices are the Grady's Grinder (ham, salami, roast beef and turkey), a Vegetarian Sampler (mushrooms, black olives, green bell peppers, white onions, lettuce, tomato, and Italian dressing), a Muffeletta (ham, turkey, salami and marinated veggies with cheese) along with the obligatory Meatball and the Arkansas standard, the Reuben. All sandwiches come with tomato, lettuce, and cheese and a Kosher dill spear.

Grady's also offers a wide variety of salads, including a Baked Chicken Salad and a Taco Salad. Pizzas come in three different sizes -- 11", 14", and 16" -- and are cooked up Neapolitan style with red sauce or olive oil. Among the different varieties are Charlie's Favorite (ground beef, white onions, bell peppers, green olives, jalapenis and cheese) and the North St. Louis Special (Italian sausage, green olives, bell peppers, and white onions with cheese). In fact, this is one of the few places in the Little Rock area where you can still find green olives on the toppings menu -- along with zucchini and artichoke hearts.

But on this particular night, my traveling companion and I eschewed the franchise offerings for comforting pasta bowls. And for me, that's Chili Mac. A big bowl runs $4.75 ($6.25 with a garden salad) and comes with a slab of garlic toast. We both made our selections and were quickly brought our drinks and my salad.

The green salad here is a bit of a misnomer. While the majority of the bowl is full of the expected Romaine and Iceberg chunks, it's supplemented with red cabbage and carrot slivers and topped with a more than ample handful of mozzarella cheese. Dressing and crackers come on the side.

We also splurged and went for an appetizer of garlic and cheese toast with marinara sauce ($4.05), three planks of soft and slightly salty French roll served up with a cup of cool sauce. The marinara itself is a sweet and chunky ragu, lightly spiced. It's a good compliment to the slightly salty bread.

I hadn't even made it through my salad before our entrees arrived. My traveling companion had opted for a bowl of Spaghetti with Meat Sauce ($6.75 with garlic bread and soup or salad). The big bowl was a bit light on meat but there was a good meat to tomato ratio in the sauce. The noodles themselves were a little past al dente, chewy but not sticky, and without the inevitable pool of moisture that forms at the base of the average bowl of spaghetti.

He'd also opted for a Corned Beef sandwich (leftovers for a late-night snack being the operative idea). The sandwich ($6.50)came on a French bread po' boy roll sliced almost all the way through lengthwise but left to hold together the pile of pinkish meat and the veggies. My companion had asked that the mayo be left off, and was greeted with a hearty Dijon instead. The repast was served up with a bag of Ruffles and a big pickle spear. By not cutting all the way through the bread, the restaurant makes what could be a messy sandwich much easier to eat.

Of course, I had my fix. The Chili Mac isn't just chili on noodles. It's served on spaghetti, not macaroni (and always has been) and is a blend of chili con carne and meat sauce. The balance isn't too spicy, and it's topped with another generous handful of mozzarella cheese. There's a whole lot of pasta there, too -- enough to satisfy even the most hungry diner.

We ended up packing up a good deal of our meal to take home for later -- but I wasn't leaving without an old favorite. Grady's is one of the few restaurants around to offer fresh cannoli -- and it's cheap, too. For 99 cents, you get a delicate filled pastry that's about 6" long. These little beauties pack a punch, though. The filling is reminiscent of a tart cheesecake. They come in vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate chip. We shared a strawberry cannoli to finish off our meal.

There are a lot of other options, too. If you're not so hungry but want to try more, you can opt for a half sandwich with your choice of soup, chili, or a salad ($6.95). Another dessert you'll want to try is the Grady's Classic Lemon Ice Box Pie ($2.25 or 9.00 for a whole one), a tart and creamy confection on a graham cracker crust. And there's no meaner, leaner French bread pizza in town than the ones you'll find at Grady's ($6.25), three planks of French roll topped with your choice of two toppings, cheese, and olive oil or red sauce -- or with mushrooms, black olives, bell peppers and white onions.

You can order beer by the mug or pitcher, or a carafe of Zinfandel, Chardonnay, or Cabernet, or enjoy any of a wide variety of carbonated products. And if you're in a rush, you can pick up your order to go with one of the 20 ounce drinks you'll find in a cooler up front.

And for those of us who love nostalgia,
some of the first arcade games that came to Little Rock can still be found in the club room.

Grady's is about to add 10 more items to the menu, according to our attentive server. She also explained the significance of the "Soup of the Day" listed -- Chicken Noodle Not, a chicken and vegetable soup without noodles. But for the most part, it's still the same great dive on 12th Street after all these years.

You'll find Grady's at 6801 West 12th Street. Call ahead for pick-up orders to (501) 663-1918. They're open seven days a week starting at 11am.

Slow down and enjoy your pint.

We all have places that are near and dear to our hearts. Perhaps there's a special restaurant where you went on your first date, or where you met the person you married. Or, if you're lucky, you've found a place where you go again and again to celebrate the good times.

Kelt's in Altus is that place for me. My husband and I have celebrated several anniversaries, a New Year's Eve, birthdays, and job promotions at this lovely and unpretentious little pub in the heart of Arkansas Wine Country.

From the outside, the building is rather unassuming. It sits perched over the town square, a steady influence in the area tucked in between the minute City Hall and one last remnant of early 20th Century downtown with a revolving group of characters (restaurants, antique and flea shops, and more). For 13 years, it's managed to hold its own. It even survived the invasion of folks from FOX and Paris Hilton -- which is saying quite a bit.

A lot of that is due to the sheer tenacity of Dan and Jan. The McMillens have been stubbornly running the pub with heart and stamina, and not just a little bit of hope. After all, can a tiny town of approximately 800 people really hold onto a great restaurant? For anyone who's ever dropped in for a pint -- oh, yes it can.

We ventured up to Altus on assignment for another piece on a surprisingly light day in July. The humidity had taken a break, and the temperature of the air seemed a good 15 degrees cooler than anything you can find in Little Rock. After completing the research the day deserved, my traveling companion (of course, my husband this time) ducked over to see what was shaking at Kelt's.

We were greeted with a cool burst of air and the savory smell of beer and meat that so often welcomes us to the establishment. Being a robust 4pm, there was little going on inside -- just a meeting of the wait staff to discuss an upcoming event and us. Dan greeted us himself and showed us to a lovely table by the wall, out of the sun. As always, we received both of the menus -- the extensive beer and wine selection, and the one with the food. We were heartbroken to find that Dan's divine Corned Beef was already gone for the day, but there were plenty of other choices to drool over, like Bangers and Mash (plump sausages served with mashed potatoes) and a very rich Pub Burger. There are a wide selection of sandwiches and there's salad -- but there's just one item on the lunch menu that we knew we wanted -- steak.

We have a history of dealing with Kelt's steaks. We know Dan will go back, pick out the meat himself, and cook it right then. There's no advance preparation. We also know that any time we go to Kelt's it's time to slow down and enjoy ourselves -- because being anxious about being hungry ain't gonna help -- it'll be out when it gets out. But that's all right -- because the whole atmosphere of the restaurant encourages a person to sit down, relax, and enjoy oneself.

My traveling companion has bemoaned the fact over the past few years of the inavailability of Murphy's Stout on-tap (he can't bring himself to wean himself down to Guinness). He asked Dan for a recommendation, and was soon served up with a pleasant chocolately ale, New Belgium 1554 Black Ale, that was light like a drinking lager but sweet and meaty like a stout -- a very good choice. Other selections on the beverage list include Bass Ale, Harp Lager, Newcastle, Woodchuck Pear Cider (one of my favorites) and of course wines from all of the local wineries. Alas, with a trip back to Little Rock on the menu, one of us needed to refrain, so I stuck with the iced tea -- refreshingly strong brewed compared to the watered-down variety of the average chain restaurant. The coffee, which I enjoy a bit too much, is also strong and served with real cream.

Our beverages were delivered with a hot loaf of sweet brown bread -- not that dark knock-off you'll get at Outback Steakhouse, but a pleasant wheat and real butter (no margarine here!) It's enough to kick off the edge after a hard day of work.

The lunch steak special comes in eight or 12 ounces, along with appropriate accoutrements. Salads come with your choice of dressing -- Ranch, Bleu Cheese, or Caesar. Though many have lauded the incredible Spicy Ranch here, I went for the Bleu Cheese, and was greeted with a thick chunky dressing carefully drizzled over a rich variety of greens dabbed with fresh croutons. My traveling companion chose Caesar for his own.

The music that permeated the afternoon air was of the soft Irish variety, heavy on the lively and on subjects of mortality (two of the selections praised the benefits of a good Irish wake). The soft lighting at our table embraced us in an intimate glow we've experienced before -- both when the pub has been empty and when it's been packed full on a Saturday night. The tables and chairs don't match -- neither does the silverwear -- but who cares. Most of the decor is older than I am, but it feels like home to me.

In short order, Dan had our steaks out -- rich strips of beefen delight seasoned with pepper and a hint of herbs. There are no apologies here for the health-conscious -- this is good food, and the heck with watching the calories. The steaks come out with a selection of sauces -- a lovely cool Bernaise with a hint of honey, a rich boullion-flavored au jus, and a light garlic butter that's not swimming in salt. The accompanying soft new potatoes with butter and herbs would be enough of a side for most of us -- but here they also come with broccoli in a lighter, cheesier version of the Bernaise and a smattering of slightly soured onions. Yes, there's a bit of a buttery pool on the bottom of the dish -- but that's all right. That's what the second loaf of bread is for.

We never do make it to the dessert menu when we go -- good meat and bread and ale usually do the trick of filling us up. But we've never been rushed out, even with the heartiest of Grape Fest crowds around.

Jan stopped by and told us about several of the events coming up, and some special activities that go on at the pub. We already knew about the intimate gigs from groups like Some Guy Named Robb and our friends Jay and Robert. But Jan also told us about the Boar's Head Feasts they host every Sunday in December, just in time for the Yuletide season, where the pub is transformed into a 15th century Tudor dining hall. We missed out on the Time Travel Weekend, where diners ate 16th century style and shared roasted beasts and the Plowman's Share (bread, sausage, and cheese for those who've never had the pleasure).

Sure, Kelt's is ecclectic. Don't expect to make your own lemonade there with lemon, sweetener, and water -- that's an extra charge. If you call for reservations, you'll find there is no such thing... and if you ask about children Dan's likely to ask you how you'd like them cooked (though children are welcome -- however, you'll have to bring your own booster seat). The restaurant seats about 50, but if you have a large crowd expect to sit at several tables instead of one big conglomeration. Relax -- you'll be able to hang with your buddies later -- for now, you'll be able to enjoy a good Irish dinner with a pint or two in one of Arkansas' best kept secrets.

And if you're going with your sweetheart, you just might get the best seats in the house -- an intimate table for two in the back with this gorgeous painting, close to the bookcase. My husband and I celebrated several anniversaries here over the years.

And don't bother looking for a website right now. The one linked around doesn't actually go to Kelt's -- but that's all right. You can find this tiny treasure on the Altus town square, 14 Hilltop Drive, next to City Hall. If you must call (perhaps to check out who's playing some Thursday night or to see what's on tap), call (479) 465-2413. The restaurant is open for lunch and dinner Monday through Saturday (8am-10pm) and for an excellent Sunday brunch (noon to 3pm).

***Update***
Kelt's does have a website now. You can check it out at keltspubinfo.com.