Luby's

Eating out here is cheap, cheerful and enjoyable. There are fewer 'fine', arty or intimate restaurants, and I particularly miss Indian restaurants (there are some, but they're not as plentiful as in the UK, and not the same). But there are huge numbers of bright, colourful, straightforward establishments, serving bright, colourful, straightforward food - burgers, fried chicken, fish, hot dogs, corn dogs, pretzel dogs, curly fries, ice cream sundaes, hot fruit pies, donuts, soda, coffee. I particularly like Freddie's Frozen Custard - partly for the name, partly for the tiled red and white interior and the strong resemblance to a 1950s diner from a Jack Kerouac novel - the only disappointment is that frozen custard is nothing like proper custard, but quite like Mr Whippy. I also like Sonic, a hamburger joint whose logo appears to be a nuclear missile, which consists of a kitchen surrounded by parking bays, each equipped with a voice intercom system where you order your food and then have it brought to your car by a waitress who is not on roller skates, but should be. Quite stunning.

But the best of all is Luby's. Luby's Cafeteria. It's very hard to describe, but I'll try. The eating area is a vast room framed by big, round-cornered windows, furnished by simple wooden tables, on each of which is placed a salt and pepper set and a bottle of Heinz tomato ketchup. The cheesiest of cheesy music is playing on the sound system. On entry, you take a tray and a white dinner plate divided into three segments, and take it to the serving counter where you select a meat or fish portion, and two sides of your choice (vegetables, potatoes, corn, etc.) You then choose an enormous sweet cake or pudding (cheesecake, lemon meringue pie, chocolate sponge, etc.) and complement your meal with the ubiquitous soda (fizzy drink). You then take your meal to your table of choice, and enjoy, accompanied in the dining area, at least on weekday lunchtimes, by two old men, one distant family, and no-one else. It's like eating in a 1950s motorway service station, or possibly in the canteen of the Isle of Wight ferry, circa 1978 (at which time it would have been the height of sophistication).

Last time I went, I was served by a Mexican gentleman who spoke and understood little English (well, I don't blame him for that - I can't speak Spanish, after all), and a small, grumpy lady well into her 70s who was wearing her hair in a hairnet - something else I haven't seen since 1978. Visitors to Oklahoma City should not pass this experience by.