Are you an out-of-towner, just passing through for the weekend, and you’ve spotted a cheeky sign on the highway that says, “You haven’t done it until you’ve done it in a barn”? Intrigued, you decide to check out Stead Ranch Steakhouse Bar & Grill. Buckle up, because this dining experience will be more unforgettable than a reality show episode featuring Nathan Fielder!
Our group of six, camping in our own little wilderness, decides to converge at Stead’s. The first trio arrives at a log barn that looks like it might double as the set for a horror film—seriously, it’s in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by absolutely nothing. There are horses in a corral, probably contemplating whether they should make a run for it.
We step inside, and a server leads us to a table, shooing away a burly man with a long gray beard—who turns out to be Bob, the owner. He greets us with “Cash only, how many bills are we talking?” like we’re about to negotiate a shady deal. When we say there are six of us but three more are on the way, he looks horrified and insists we can’t have six separate bills because that’s “too complicated.” Okay, Bob, we’re not trying to buy cocaine here; we just want to eat!
Bob takes our drink orders and we wait for our pals when another group with a reservation arrives. Bob quickly tells us we actually need to leave because “a reservation has arrived," and even if we did get a table it would take a LONG time and then it would take even longer to be served food. Spoiler alert: they didn’t even sit at our table!
Just as the three of us walk out of the door (after texting our friends "we uh, got kicked out?"), the rest of our group shows up and Bob suddenly has a change of heart and bursts through the door behind us - “Come back inside, but whatever you do, don’t order any burgers; they take forever!” This should have been our cue to run for the hills, but hey, we were in the middle of nowhere, starving, and desperation makes you ignore red flags like the beginning of a relationship.
We shuffle back to our table, which is still empty, and a different server takes our drink order (again) while we’re trying to decipher the eclectic decor—faux leather tables that look like they haven’t been thoroughly cleaned since the '70s. Cocktail options? Caesars or paralyzers. That’s it.
One of us orders the paralyzer, and after an excruciating 20 minutes, the server returns—not with our drinks, but with the news that they need to run to the local grocery store for milk and Pepsi to make it. At this point, we place our food orders. We’re told they’re out of ribs and to avoid too many burgers because they slow down the kitchen (the entire menu is steak, ribs & burgers). Is this a restaurant or an episode of chopped where everyone loses?
Now, a quick note: I have celiac disease, so I’m trying to make this clear. My conversation with the server goes like this:
Me: “Hi, I have celiac disease.”
Server: “Okay.”
Me: “Do you know what that is?”
Server: “No.”
Me: “It’s a severe reaction to gluten, so I can’t have any gluten in or near my food. Do you know what gluten is?”
Server: "No.“
Me: Attempts to explain gluten to a confused man
Server: "Okay. I'll tell the cook"
Fingers crossed, right?
Fast forward 1.5 hours, and we’re still waiting for our food. Meanwhile, Bob decides to pull up a chair to a couple at another table, regaling them with stories of his glory days. When he finally turns to us, he whips out his guitar and serenades us with three heartfelt songs sandwiched with stories of his adolescent run-ins with rockstar idols of decades past. When one of my friends whispers to her partner, Bob shoots her a death stare, saying, “I was TRYING to tell you a story. Sorry if I’m bothering you!” At this point the entire dining room is sitting in awkward silence and another table tries to comfort Bob. Heaven forbid a woman engage in conversation instead of giving her full attention to Bob’s unsolicited serenade!
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