NO HEADLESS HORSEMAN — YET!
By: Robert L. Friedly
Photo By: Robert L. Friedly
He’s not particularly disturbed by that. After all, a place that is named for the Legend of Sleepy Hollow ought to have a few ghosts now and then. Old Ichabod Crane, the gangly schoolmaster in Washington Irving’s story, has been missing for nearly 200 years since his scary literary encounter with that ghastly horseman who tossed his head (or was it a pumpkin?) at him. Irvington, as you know, was named for Washington Irving, America’s first world renowned author. Irving was born the year the Revolutionary War ended, died a year or so before the Civil War began, and was memorialized in Indiana 14 years after that. He represented class and gentility, which was just what the founders of the Irvington community wanted to convey in 1873 when they lost their heads and decided to make the streets too narrow for traffic, too winding to see what was coming, and too dangerous for the carriage operators gawking at the Victorian towers and the houses and walls constructed of those odd round stones. The Legend — the restaurant — celebrated its third birthday in May. Robertson was driving his car when the name popped into his head. He and wife Kim had been noodling about it for some time. They could have named the place the Rip Van Winkle for Irving’s other best known literary image, but that wouldn’t have elicited mystery like The Legend. And it might have conveyed a little more narcolepsy than a restaurant should serve. “We and others were frustrated because there was no place in the neighborhood for dinner,” said Robertson, a 15-year resident of the community Irving inspired. “And we had a commitment to this neighborhood.” Robertson always had had an interest in cooking (his mother once said he was frying eggs at 5). But he had no professional experience in restaurant operation. Sure, he had sold restaurant equipment for a time, but that was hardly food preparation and service. So he secured the far western end of the Washington Street mini-mall across the street from the old Masonic Lodge, set up tables for 50 people, separated them from a kitchen with a door featuring a Masonic emblem (He’s not a Mason and he wasn’t honoring the old lodge, he saw it in a salvage yard and liked it), stenciled a period logo on the walls and front glass, and began to cook. “I’ve always enjoyed cooking. I like to experiment. And I’m never satisfied,” says Irvington’s Ichabod. Quickly the community developed a favorite: “Dad’s Crunchy Chicken,” according to Robertson. It is concocted by dipping boneless chicken breast in an egg wash, applying seasoned bread crumbs, browning it on the stove and topping it off in the oven. Other folks have been heard to sing the praises of “Mom’s Meatloaf” or the pork chop with the fantastic plum sauce. Robertson essentially does all the cooking himself, putting in 11 to 14 hours a day, though he has help with the food preparation. He always has a warm smile for customers, but he admits to having thrown a cooking utensil or two over frustrations in the kitchen. Early on, his wife Kim, who has a fulltime buyer job with a furniture concern, and one or more of their three daughters, Casey, Haley and Emma — blonde look-alikes for their mom — helped out. Friday is the busiest day. The Legend is open Tuesday through Saturday from 11 a.m. until 8 p.m., with a break between 2:30 and 4:30, and an extension until 9 p.m. on Friday and Saturday. The restaurant also has begun to serve on Monday, but only lunch. Robertson guesses that about half his clientele gallops in from outside the neighborhood. Some out-of-towners, from as far away as California, see the name in the restaurant guide in their hotels and call for information. The clientele may include a group in cut-off jeans the same night as a group in suits and ties. Sometimes it’s a bused-in group touring the haunts and rousing the ghosts of Irvington. Mayor Bart Peterson has graced Robertson’s table, as have former Congressman Andy Jacobs and state and local legislators. John and Kim Robertson met at a little church college, Milligan, in the mountains at Johnson City, Tennessee, perhaps not unlike the Hudson River churchyard near Tarrytown, New York, where Ichabod was frightened out of existence. She was from New Jersey and they settled there for 11 years after their marriage. But John had been raised in Indianapolis in the Little Flower Catholic Church area, his late father being an independent Christian Church pastor. Out of John Robertson’s church upbringing comes the need to be of help to desperate people. During a recent benefit for New Orleans hurricane victims, he served what he called “Gulfport Gumbo,” turning over half the profits to relief. He plans other such assistance to the New Orleans rehabbing efforts in which Irvingtonians participate. And to give that assistance an eerie twist in relation to the story of The Legend, do you remember the name of the young woman that Ichabod was courting when he was frightened into oblivion by the horseman? Would you believe: Katrina! Duh, duh, duh, duh. Duh, duh, duh, duh. |
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