Since moving to Oklahoma City in 1990, I have driven by Ingrid’s Kitchen at least once a day for my entire residency, but have never once stopped in to try the food. (I have stopped a few times at the hippie shoe store around the corner from it to stock-up on Birks, Danskos and Keens, however, but that’s another story.)
Now is the point where I tell you why, and at the risk of ruining all the positive societal relations that Starbucks has managed to accrue in the past few days (#RaceTogether), I’ve just never been the biggest fan of Germans. Sure, I love Klaus Kinski, Goo Girls and Einstürzende Neubauten as much as the next beefy Chicano, but, still, one of those basterds shot my father in World War II and, well, that really wasn’t too cool of you, Germany.