Down and Out in Denver

An American Flag Tops the Chicken at WFF

This past weekend I entertained a gentleman caller who was born and raised in Chicago.  As a child he and his family visited a restaurant there called White Fence Farm, about which he has very fond memories.  It just so happens that there is also a White Fence Farm not too far from Denver.  So last night, dear readers, we ventured to the suburb of Lakewood to experience the magic of fried chicken and corn fritters at WFF.

I was apprehensive, I will not deny it.  First of all, suburbs.  Second, a fried chicken restaurant that was clearly geared toward families.  In many ways, however, I was ill-prepared for what was to come, and not all in a bad way.  To call White Fence Farm a restaurant is something of an understatement.  It is located on what used to be an actual farm and is more of a village than simply a restaurant.  The words “complex” and “campus” come to mind when describing the WFF empire.

Upon arriving one can pick up a brochure titled “Ideas and Information to Make Your Visit More Enjoyable.”  It is one of the few times I can think of where receiving instructions about how to dine at a restaurant actually came in handy. The parking lot – which has a separate section for RVs and buses – is enormous.  While waiting for our table (our table number was broadcast on a campuswide PA system and displayed on closed-circuit TV) we spent some time in the Americana Barn (aka the gift shop) before we headed out back to see the petting zoo, complete with two goats (Tic and Tac), two sheep (Holly and Ivy), a pig, and a steer.   There is also a small pond and stream, an aviary, a gazebo, and something called a pig chute that seems to be open for 15 minutes at the top of every hour.

Grammar is not the focus at the Petting Zoo

Aside from the three other gays we saw in Granny’s Fudge shop (in the Americana Barn) I am convinced we were the only table made up of people not related by blood or marriage.  And this place seats 600 in seven different dining rooms.  There is a whole room, the Fireside Lounge, reserved for adults only.  That sounds dirtier than it actually is; it only exists because the entire place is so overrun with children.  We were not actually in the Fireside Lounge, but since we arrived on the late side for WFF (7:15), our section was practically a private dining room by 7:45.  Suburban diners eat early.

The rooms themselves are all decked out for the Christmas season; pictures on the walls had been wrapped in paper.  That rule about waiting till after Thanksgiving to put up holiday decorations?

Our Little Christmas Corner

Not at WFF.  From the decorations to the outfits worn by servers (ruffly apron-like dresses on the women, in various pastel shades and floral prints) the entire place is aggressively “homey.”  WFF emphasizes its family roots and family management and indeed we were surrounded by families at every turn

The WFF odyssey continues tomorrow with a discussion of the food, the service, and the craziness that befalls two liberal homos who dine in the suburbs…