Twenty-one years ago, myself, along with three friends, were traveling east on I-20 late in the day as we were headed home from a hunting trip in Texas. We needed to stop and take care of our bird dogs who were traveling with us. We found a spot to let the dogs out and feed them. After the dogs had been loaded back up, we headed out in search of a local restaurant.
We saw the exit sign for Highway 80/Jackson, Mississippi and bailed off the interstate. There were restaurants scattered alongside the highway, but nothing captured our attention. We pulled into a gas station, and I went inside to ask if they might know where a local steak and seafood joint was located.
The lady behind the counter told me they had a “real nice” Captain D’s right down the street. I thanked her and walked back out the door. We continued down Highway 80 looking for a suitable restaurant to dine at. My friend driving said, “Look at all the cars in that parking lot!” I replied, “Pull in there quick!”
As we were pulling into the parking lot we were greeted by a mountain of a man, he was the security guard and he told us to park in the back of the lot. He assured us he would watch over our truck and trailer. We had our hunting buggy as well as our most valued possession, our beloved bird dogs on that trailer, he said not to worry he would keep a close eye on things.
There was a neon sign out by the highway that simply read “Crechale’s Steak and Seafood” that was good enough for us. When we walked in the door, Bob Crechale, the proprietor, greeted us immediately. He picked up on the fact that we were bird hunters from our attire and a conversation about hunting ensued.
It felt like walking into McKinney’s Pond and being greeted by “Mutt” Kennedy. We felt right at home hundreds of miles from our home in Midville. A friendship was forged right then and there. It was the beginning of a relationship that would ultimately last for over two decades.
Bob began recommending his favorite dishes and promptly started having appetizers sent to our table. He talked with us all night as we enjoyed steaks and seafood in his third-generation restaurant. When we were ready to leave, he told us not to spend the night in Jackson. He said all the local hotels sent him a myriad of customers, but despite that fact he sent us down the road to Pearl, Mississippi to find suitable lodging for the night.
Bob’s grandfather, a Greek immigrant, started the restaurant seventy years ago. Bob’s father operated it until his death and then Bob took over the reins at a fairly young age. Bob was an old school restaurant man; it was the only job he ever had, and he was good at it. He served excellent food, and he was the consummate host.
After our first encounter with Bob and his famed restaurant we knew we would be back. From that day forward our trips out west would include a stop in Jackson on the way home. Every year we would look forward to eating with Bob and our friendship continued to grow. Whenever we walked in the door he would look up and say, “There’s them Georgia boys!” He would immediately sit us at a table and send us some onion rings to eat while our order was being prepared. We would swap stories about hunting and discuss life. We all looked forward to our time together.
In December of last year, we received word that Bob had passed away at the age of seventy. He had died from complications from surgery. It was sad news to say the least. It was the end of an era. Later we learned that the family and the staff at the restaurant had decided to operate the longstanding establishment until February of this year.
It was a gift for us to be able to go back one more time as we had planned to go out west in late January. So, last Friday night, there we were, once again riding down Highway 80 headed to Crechale’s. It was a familiar site for us all as we turned into the parking lot. That old neon sign was lit up by the highway and there was a security guard there to watch over the truck.
There was a line out the front door and we put our name in the hat for a table. We waited for over an hour with the local folks from the area and swapped stories from over the years about Bob and his beloved restaurant. I was talking with an older lady who was quite a sport about her experiences there. I told her we had been coming for twenty years and she looked right at me and said she’d been coming for fifty years. Yes ma’am.
Once we were seated at the table our meal was served in fifteen minutes flat and the food was as good as ever. We talked with several of the employees that had been working there for years. It was a memorable experience, one that I will carry in my heart on into eternity.
We stumbled into Crechale’s over twenty years ago, weary, and ready for a good meal after a long day on the interstate, but I know that it was not by chance. The relationship was not by accident. It was orchestrated by a greater hand. I’m thankful for the relationship and the time that we shared with our friend Bob Crechale.
We found out that Crechale’s will officially close on Valentine's Day. I think that is very appropriate. Valentine’s Day is all about love. Bob and the people who came to his restaurant shared a great love of good food and life itself. Love was ever present in that old building with the neon sign out there on Highway 80.
