The Ghost of Furlongs

How a little Cajun restaurant brought me closer to my dad, even after he was gone.

My dad loved to eat. He also loved to entertain.

He loved the theatrics of it all. He would spend hours sipping a drink and telling stories while standing over a grill. 

It took hours, and it was an event. My mom has said numerous times, “If your dad was grilling, we may have 15 people at the house and still wouldn’t eat till 11:00.” He didn’t care that people were hungry. He was entirely in his element. The parties and gatherings my parents threw were epic.

It is no shock that with a father who loved tall tales and food and a mother who loved to cook, Anne and I both ended up making a living with food.

Many years ago, there was a little gem in Lexington, Kentucky, called Furlongs. It was a fabulous Cajun restaurant that my father loved. Anne and I had left and gone to college when my father stumbled upon this eatery, so we never joined him for dinner there. It was such a joy for him to meet friends at Furlongs on a Friday night and order plates of authentic Cajun food. 

Shortly after Furlongs became a staple in my father’s life, he got sick and never recovered. After we lost him, I never gave the restaurant much thought until a few years later when Anne and I ended up working with polo horses, and our boss suggested we all go out for dinner one evening. He took us to Furlongs, his favorite spot in town. 

As we walked in, I immediately felt what made my father love it. It was dark, cozy, and quaint. Oh, and the aromas…the place just smelled like good food. It had horse racing memorabilia all over the walls, hot sauce on the tables, and dim lighting. I ordered the stuffed catfish, which would be my standard choice every time I went after that evening. It was shrimp and crabmeat stuffed inside a catfish filet, broiled, and then finished with a white wine butter sauce, served with hot baked bread. I always ordered a side of rice because EVERYTHING is better with rice.  After that first night, many memories were made in that little Cajun spot. I made friends there. I had dinner meetings there.  I took dates there. I laughed and cried there. And I never walked through those doors that I didn’t envision my father sitting in the corner telling a fabulous story and laughing with his buddies. 

I never visited that restaurant with my father, but being there always made me feel closer to him. It made me feel like I was a part of his life that I never got to be included in.  Even though he was gone, I was allowed to peek through the curtains and watch a part of his life that unfolded without me.

Now, like my father, Furlongs is gone. 

All of those moments are now just memories. 

A memory that floods me from time to time when someone mentions a Cajun restaurant or when I drive past the old building that held all those moments. It’s true what they say…food binds us. It pulls us together, brings our past to the surface, and keeps it close. Even when time has marched on and life has changed us, it’s the food that brings us back. It never lets us forget. It demands we remember, and for that, I’m forever thankful.

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