Every travel adventure has a “key moment.” We were expecting some on the ball diamond, but instead ours occurred last night at the Omaha Sullivan’s Steak House. I have eaten at many a Sullivan’s, including the very first of the chain in Austin, Texas. That particular location is now closed, but the one in Indianapolis, Indiana will occasionally get my business. My first choice in Indy would be St. Elmo’s, followed by Murphy’s, Ruth’s Chris, and Fleming’s but Sullivan’s and its familiar boxing theme would definitely make my top-five. We probably would not have gone to the local Sullivan’s on this trip if it weren’t for the fact that Spencer’s Steak House across from our hotel was closed last night for a private party. We had seen their “Happy Hour” sign earlier in the day, and decided that a good “local” Omaha steak would be in order, especially since the next three nights will be spent at the ballpark. The sign gave us a “hankerin’ for a juicy steak,” and we were disappointed when the doors to Spencer’s were locked upon our arrival. Sullivan’s was just down the street, even if it didn’t have that local Omaha flavor.

This is steak country, so I was surprised that the local Diner where we ate breakfast this morning was out of it. I had to get an omelet instead. They were out of Diet Coke yesterday, so I’m surprised that we went back again, but nothing else was open. After this morning’s steak shortage, we’ll try to find another option in the future. I guess I could understand if they were out of seafood, but steak-less in cattle country is unforgivable, and couple that with no Diet Coke. We were just short of a “Doomsday” calamity! However, it was nothing compared to last night’s dining faux pas.

Speaking of restaurant tragedies, we almost experienced one last evening at Sullivan’s. My friend, who suggested that we experience the excitement of the College World Series, had finished half a glass of House Cabernet when he noticed something lurking in the bottom of his wineglass. The dark liquid somehow hid a gold key on a wire ring that could have dangerously lodged in his throat had he not been just properly sipping. If that had happened, we would have owned Sullivan’s. I could envision him clawing at his throat, rolling on the ground in agony and breathlessly pleading for mouth-to-mouth. At the subsequent trial, just before the keys to Sullivan’s were presented to us, a good defense attorney would have dangled the wine-coated key from his outstretched fingertip, while gesturing at the the liquor locker that it unlocked and proclaiming in dramatic fashion, “if the key fits, you must convict!” I’ve heard of a car getting “keyed,” but never a person!

No one at the restaurant could figure out what the key that unlocked their liquor cabinet was doing in a wine glass, or how the bartender could have possibly poured wine over the top of it, like it somehow belonged there? Perhaps it was a subtle move on the part of the bartender to lure him to her hotel room, but there was no number inscribed? Nonetheless, it was free wine for my friend last night and a few memorable chuckles forever-after. Perhaps we should have demanded more, but we were very relaxed after a day of no ballgames and little else to do but eat, drink & be merry. Once we got over the unexpected heavy-metal shock, we were quick to head back to our hotel room following this “key moment” at the College World Series.”