Dear Readers, Dear Listeners, lend your ears to a tale of a most curious establishment – the Checotah Saloon, a den of wonder nestled in the bosom of our wild frontier.

Upon entering this bastion of debauchery and delight, one's eyes are immediately assaulted by walls bedecked in the cheesiest of paper. The atmosphere, thick with whispers and the strains of minstrel music, is akin to stepping into a bygone era, where secrets are the currency of the realm.

At the heart of this saloon stands a barkeep, a veritable pioneer of hipsterdom all because of the suspenders he wears. The whiskey here, cares not for age or pedigree – it flows like the mighty rivers of our great land, quenching the thirst of rascals and gentlemen alike.

The air is ripe with the scent of vice – the flick of cards, the rustle of skirts from ladies of the night, and the ever-present threat of gunpowder. Yet, amidst this chaos, one finds a peculiar sense of camaraderie, a brotherhood born of shared vice and whispered news.

Here, the sustenance is information, the most sought-after dish.

In conclusion, the Checotah Saloon is not merely a watering hole, but a grand stage where the tales of the frontier come alive.

NOTE:

We refused an invite for a steak dinner at Esau’s horrific Texas ranch especially after word on the street said the Texas steak they served was tougher than a two-dollar saddle and about as flavorful as the dirt under some used and abused boots. Because I can only speak for Restaurant Fiction, all we can say is, we’re glad we value our taste buds.