THE PARLOR P.S.

THE PARLOR P.S.

It’s Sunday morning, as I sit behind my computer keyboard. It’s cold outside, 3 degrees. Yesterday and last night, we received 4-5 inches of snow. Church services across the fruited plain are suspending services today. Other civic activities are also saying, “I don’t think so.”

So, what to do? I pulled out my new frying pans and fixed breakfast. Do I dare say it again, (Two over easy, bacon, hash browns, English Muffin, OJ) and a cup of Cappuccino. What else to do today? Being a Colts Football observer/fan, I’ll slump down in my leather reclining chair and watch a little football on television. Today, our QB is 44-year-old Phillip Rivers. All three of our regular quarterbacks are hurt.

For those of you who don’t live in Indiana. Our team is called the Indianapolis Colts. We had a few great seasons with Peyton Manning and Andrew Luck, but my oh my, we can’t seem to find a quarterback who doesn’t get clobbered on the field. I won’t bore you with crap about our team or the NFL (National Football League).

(I had to explain to my audience in Singapore what the NFL means.)

Okay, it’s time to catch up on last week’s activities. Again, I’m not sure I can get to all of my lunches in this post (don’t I sound like a gadabout?), but let’s take them one at a time. I’m sure I’ve talked about the “G-5” before. (a group of 5 men). All of us were lifetime single-family home loan mortgage lender kind of guys. We came together during the Savings & Loan meltdown (early 80s) when interest rates were 16%. So, five marvelous selling machines were stymied by the super-high mortgage interest rates. We looked at each other and said,

“You know, we’re in trouble, we’re not making any money. Let’s get together for lunch and bitch!”

Who is going to set up the first G-5 lunch? Well, it wasn’t clear who would be in charge. We all felt we were smart enough to set up something as simple as lunch. But, since not all of us wanted to step on anyone’s toes, there was hesitation on everyone’s part.

Aaron decided to take the bull by the horns. Again, the cast of characters is Aaron, Bob, George,  Duncan, and Richard. I admit that we were careful not to lose our own identity. We have our stellar reputation to protect. We each have a customer base we need to worry about. And we all had our own ideas about where we should meet for lunch so that we wouldn’t be seen together out in public. Aaron said with some frustration,

“Hey, ass holes, we’re not banging each other, we’re just having lunch!”

Aaron announced when and where our first G-5 lunch would be. Aaron decided to hold our lunch at the “Red Garter Gentlemen’s Club.”

I believe the first critical comment was,

“What!? A strip club? Lunch at a strip club? Are you out of your mind?”

Aaron wasn’t taking NO for an answer. He said,

“It’s a place where men have lunch. Get over it!”

I suspect under his breath, Aaron was enjoying the shock and awe, the overwhelming stress placed on good Christian men, causing us to freeze in place, heart rates accelerating with the anticipation of being seen entering a greasy strip club.

(Aren’t all strip clubs greasy?)

Then, of course, what would it look like if one of us chickened out? I can’t be seen in a place like that. Or I’m not man enough to walk in confidently and sit in that place and watch the show? Am I handicapped by social norms and social mores to enter a sin of iniquity, a Gentleman’s Club? It’s a strip Joint!

“Let me ask my wife if it’s okay for me to have lunch there.” I decided that was not a good idea. Peer pressure can wreck a beautiful thing when building trust in a marriage. Wasn’t it Jimmy Carter who said,

“I’ve looked on a lot of women with lust. I’ve committed adultery in my heart many times”.

So, what did Rosalynn Carter (Wife of President Jimmy Carter) say after reading the 1976 Playboy article?

“Jimmy talks too much.” Sounds like excellent marital advice to me. Keep your mouth shut!

Under our collective breaths, we were asking ourselves, are there really naked women in there? There was only one way to find out. So, all of us showed up for our first G-5 lunch.

Bob – George – Duncan – Aaron - Richard

We also agreed to … “Keep our mouths shut.”

AFTER STRIP CLUB

Over the years, we have been to more than 30 different restaurants in and around Indianapolis. We decided to take turns giving everyone a chance to pick the venue. Not everyone wanted to go to a strip club each month. Aaron always seems to come up with the most eclectic places. We collectively hold our breath when it’s Aaron's turn to pick the restaurant. The month of December (2025) was Aaron’s turn again to pick the restaurant.

He decided to pick Bluebeard. I think the semifinalist award from the James Beard Foundation as Best New Restaurant in America, and the fact that Andrew Luck (former quarterback for the Indianapolis Colts) has been known to eat at Bluebeards, may have tainted Aaron’s judgment. Everyone likes a little chrome around their wheels. But Aaron, check the fuel mileage. In other words, check the menu.

I’m sure Bluebeard is an excellent restaurant. But it’s not a meat-and-potatoes kind of restaurant for fearless, macho, lionhearted men. Plus, after looking at the menu, I had the feeling that their target demographic wasn’t us.

I looked at Bluebeard’s online and pulled up the menu.

Salads: Ginger Salad $18.00, Fall Panzanella $17.00, Shaved Celery Root $17.00.

Soups: Roasted Cauliflower $14.00, Frijoles Charros $12.00, Garlic Brassicas $12.00.

Plates: Burrata $16.00, Hamachi Crudo $24.00, Ricotta Gnocchi $32.00.

Meat: Bass $43.00, Pork $45.00, Half chicken $35.00, Steak $45.00, Ribeye $72.00.

Is this place another “Gentlemen’s Club?” (Minus the naked women?) Because my wallet pushed against my right butt cheek and said, “Aaron’s way?” And my butt said, “No Way.”

I placed a phone call to Aaron, our unofficial Connoisseur of fine dining, and, as subtly as possible, suggested he pick a different place. I talked about the parking problems in Fletcher Place. Fletcher Place is a mature neighborhood, built in the 1850s and named after farmer Calvin Fletcher. He owned a farm and decided to plat his farm into a housing community. Thus, it officially began as Fletcher Place in 1872, located near the southeast corner of downtown Indianapolis. However, 150 years later, Calvin didn’t include parking spaces for large vehicles in his plan.

I suggested the walk from the car to the restaurant in cold weather was not a great idea. What if you fall, Aaron? I was willing to try anything to invoke a change in the venue. He was steadfast in his decision. I finally said, “I’m going to ask the other guys what they think. Aaron asked me to wait before calling the guys so that he could think it over.

At the last minute, Aaron called and said he wanted to change the venue to a small place in Mooresville, Indiana. What was his pick? The Parlor P.S.

(For those of you living in Singapore.)

Mooresville, Indiana, is in the far southwest corner of Indianapolis, and I live in the far northeast corner. Google Maps tells me it’s 40 miles from my home to the Restaurant. I quickly asked Google to show me the Parlor P.S. menu.

SOUPS: Chicken Velvet $8, French Onion $8, Roasted Red Pepper Gouda Bisque $8.

SALADS: Arugula $10, Add-ons $10.

SANDWICHES: Green Tomato BLT $18, Shrimp roll $21, Chicken Salad $16, Tenderloin $16, Parlor burger $18, Fried Chicken $18.

BEVERAGES: Coke products $4, Tea/Coffee $4.00.

I remember a few years ago, I could go into a grocery store and buy a two-liter bottle of Coke for 99 cents. Now, most restaurants charge $3 - $3.25 for a glass of Coke. I noticed the Parlor P.S. has raised the ante to $4.00 a glass. I decided to learn how to drink water without Scotch. And after looking at the menu, I figured I might go with the tenderloin at $16.00.

The website gives me the impression that new owners are running the business. The décor is a sure-fire giveaway; it’s definitely a mom-and-pop place. By that, I mean it’s not a slick, polished, sterile, franchise-looking kind of place. The Parlor P.S. website likes to suggest it’s more like a living room.

Looking at the pictures online, I looked more closely and saw that a woman had her hand in the overall decor. The multiple chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the Queen-Anne style tables and chairs scream “woman” to me. But the dark blue walls send another message. Looking at the atmosphere in this restaurant, I’m getting mixed messages. What demographic are they shooting for? Men, women, both? It seems more like a tea house for women.

For my readers in Singapore. (Comrades, dark blue colors are normally associated with masculinity.)

I don’t mean to generalize here, but women in the United States tend to lean toward the soft, warm tones of pink, lavender, and peach. But it goes without saying that if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then the observer gets to decide what is beautiful. It just shows you, I don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.

The two-story building at 6 West Main Street, Mooresville, Indiana, was built in 1878, as per the real estate listing information online. It never hurts to search for property information to get a sense of where we’re going for lunch. The main floor of the Parlor P.S. is 2,374 square feet, and the second floor is 2,374 square feet, which the agent referred to as a loft.

The building at 6 West Main, Mooresville, was sold on December 31, 2024, for $499,000.00.

Brian Wiser, Toni, and Paul Ford sold the building. And Paul and Shelly Slagle bought the building. So, the new owners of the building have owned this place for almost a year. So, this restaurant, called Parlor P.S., has been in business for around a year.

So, all I know at this point is I’m having lunch in an old building in Mooresville. A preacher (Paul) and his wife and nurse (Shelly) have decided to open a restaurant. Perhaps that’s what the P.S. logo on the outside of the building means. Interesting.

SHELLY AND PAUL SLAGLE (owners)

I was in a good mood this Friday afternoon. The sun was shining, it wasn’t bitterly cold, and I had expectations of having a good time. I found a place to park on the street close to the restaurant. I was scheduled to have lunch at the Parlor P.S. in Mooreville at 1:00 PM. Driving time was almost an hour. I came to the intersection of Main & Indiana, and the Street and Maps app on my cell phone said my destination was on my right. Wow, the place looks smaller than the pictures online.

I parked and began my walk to the restaurant. There was a woman in front of me about 20 feet away, and I held back so as not to pass her. I was in no hurry; I was a little early. But she was going into Parlor P.S. also. She pulled on the door with a little bit of hesitation. I entered the building behind her. I grabbed the door too. We were both standing in a very small space waiting for someone to come to our aid and seat us.

A quick look around gave me an immediate impression of what kind of lunch we were going to have. This is where a woman would feel more comfortable than a man. But that’s just my take on what I noticed quickly.

I don’t think the woman waiting in front of me knew how close we were standing together. She was a short woman, middle-aged, with a very short haircut. Her haircut would look good on me. It was short. On her, it looked great. Very suave and sophisticated. Of course, I said to myself, “This gal has some money.”

That’s not a $10.00 “Great Clips” haircut. The top of her head was at the height of my chin. I looked at her hair a little closer. Whoever cuts her hair is a real professional. In fact, for a few seconds there, I thought about asking her who cuts her hair. Thinking, I would like my hair to look as good as hers. But I thought better about it. Don’t want to be accused of being aggressive.

The small dining room tables were full of customers, except for one near the door. I didn’t want to be seated close to the door, with cold air coming in on me every few minutes. But I decided to let the staff put me where they wanted me. “Come on, Duncan, go along to get along.”

Finally, an employee came to the front of the restaurant and looked at the two of us standing close together at the door, and asked,

“TWO?”

For some reason, I lost control of my emotions. I was overcome with a flirtatious attitude. I touched the woman on the shoulder in front of me, and she turned and looked at me. She was wearing very large, oversized, rimmed glasses shaped like a triangle. And I spoke to the hostess with a hesitant voice,

“No, no, no, we’re not together!! Honestly, we have never seen each other, ever. Honestly. Really!!”

The woman looked back over her shoulder at me with her mouth open. I said to her in a stage whisper,

(A stage whisper means, Talk loud enough for everyone to hear.)

“I told you this wouldn’t be a good place for us to meet!”

For what seemed like an eternity, there was stone-cold silence. The woman in front of me then began to giggle and then laugh out loud. The female employee, getting ready to seat us, smiled, and a woman customer sitting by the Christmas tree, who heard everything, laughed.

When the giggles died down, the employee looked at us, tilted her head, like a dog tilts their head when they don’t quite understand.

“So, are the two of you together or not?” The woman in front of me, with a smile, said,

“Right now, we are not together.”

I quickly asked her if she was meeting her husband. She informed me she was meeting her gal pal and her pal’s husband, and her husband didn’t want anything to do with this place. I couldn’t resist. “Then, you and I meeting here is a good idea?”

She turned and asked. “Who are you? What brought you to this restaurant?”

I told a little white lie and said I’m meeting three other motorcycle types; we have decided to try to improve our communication skills with the general public. We decided to leave our leathers and do-rags at home and try to blend in.

“How am I doing?”

I don’t think she believed me.

She smiled and said, “Well, when the other guys get here, give me a wave.” She was seated (by herself) in the back of the restaurant.

While I waited for the hostess to clear some empty tables, I took a few pictures of the Christmas tree. The woman sitting next to the tree was with what appeared to be her husband. He never looked up (ever) from his cell phone, and I noticed she held a credit card in her hand.

(Interesting, in some marriages, the woman is in charge of the finances. I won’t speculate what their situation is, but she smiled at me a lot.)

She kept smiling as she watched me take pictures. I told her not to worry, I can Photoshop her out of the picture, “I know how.”

She playfully said, “Oh, don’t do that!”

I was thinking the large, burly husband might look up to see who the idiot was talking to his wife. But, no, he kept his nose to his phone. I continued to take pictures. I noticed the image on the wall above the couple having lunch next to the Christmas tree. The picture was of Jesus with children on his lap. Of course, this place is owned by a former pastor, or if he is still a pastor. I need to heed the signs of how to behave in his space. My Baptist upbringing allows me to interpret the photograph.

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these”

Funny how my past religious training keeps popping up now and then. So, as I stood waiting for a table, it was clear to me that this pastor/preacher (Paul) was continuing to espouse his faith in his restaurant. I will accept, I was in his “house” so to speak, and I will make an effort to recognize who he is, a man of faith.

The Christmas tree was actually very beautiful—quite a sight to behold. I don’t think I have ever seen a Christmas tree with this many decorations. Is it perhaps flamboyant, gaudy, or over the top? Just a few of the things running through my mind. But still, for some reason, it's beautiful. A lot of time and trouble went into preparing the tree.

I was offered a table/seat. I was on the opposite side of the room from my new gal pal at the front door. I sat, looked over at her, and she smiled. Okay, she is not upset. She is apparently comfortable with our exchange.

AARON

Aaron was the first to walk through the door. He sat across from me at our very small table and gave me a cautious hello. The look on his face was more or less,

“Well, is this place a better place than Bluebeard?”

I smiled as if to say, “You can sure pick some unusual places to have lunch.”

I met Aaron when my Savings & Loan merged with his. My S&L went down the tubes, we went bankrupt, we ran out of money. His Savings & Loan still had a few million in the piggy bank and allowed our employees to keep their jobs. Without repeating myself, this was the 16% interest-rate environment we were living in at the time. It was tough, not knowing if any of us would have a job.

Aaron was a Funeral Trust Officer when I met him. He wanted to be a mortgage loan guy and make the big bucks. And asked me to give him some pointers on how that happens. I remember we sat in an office in the basement, and I gave it to him as straight as I could. His attitude was, “Just tell me what to do.” He was a great student, and we became friends. We now have 35 years of friendship under our belt. I happened to look across the room and noticed my new paramour,

(I might be exaggerating a lot here.)

I pointed to Aaron and gestured to her that “HE” (Aaron) was the one who picked this place. I got a hand gesture back, as if to say, “Okay, I understand.”

George and Bob were the last to arrive. They walked in with smiles on their faces, removed their winter coats, and sat down in their elegantly tufted Queen-Anne chair. George and Bob are very close friends who live near each other and normally come to our lunches in the same vehicle.

Bob: “So, this is the place, huh?”

George: “So do we know anything about the food?”

The four of us settled in for a new adventure. Again, Aaron was the one who chose this restaurant. He was asked how he found this place. Aaron said he noticed it online, thought it looked interesting, and decided we as a group needed to give it a try. Aaron is always a little nervous about social functions.

George has been having back problems and gave us an update on his discomfort. Bob didn’t seem to feel he was in danger of any major health problems. Aaron is the most fragile among the group.

I decided to ask the question, “Tell me, one and all, burial or cremation?” All indicated they were in favor of cremation. “And how many of you have your funeral arrangements completed?” I was the only one among the four of us who had all of that “funeral stuff” arranged. The answers came back from all of them, “I need to think about that.”

So much for health, our waitress, Brenda, came to our table with four large glasses of water.

Brenda: “Are you ready to order?”

Bob: “What’s your soup of the day?”

Brenda: “Tomato bisque, and French onion.”

George: Do you recommend anything today?”

Brenda: We have a succulent, melt-in-your-mouth Faroe Island Salmon, flaky and butter-basted, served over a saffron beurre blanc confit with fingerling potatoes.

I listened to Brenda and didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. I cook my Salmon from Aldi’s in my kitchen regularly.

(who knows where the Salmon came from, what water it slept in last night, or who it slept with)

Hey, for me, I cook the Salmon in a frying pan on low heat and lots of butter floating around in the pan. Yeah, it takes a little more time to cook slowly, but I like my Salmon pampered. I have a large spoon and continue to baste the Salmon with butter until the temperature reaches about 135 degrees. Give the Salmon a shot or two of lemon pepper and a squirt of lemon juice. Microwave a bag of broccoli with some Velveeta cheese, then serve.

Well, no one ordered the Salmon. And of course, Brenda didn’t tell us what the Salmon would cost. “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.” However, I went with a cup of French onion soup and the Tenderloin sandwich with lettuce, tomato, onion, and mayonnaise, $18.00. Bob and George both went for the Hot Bacon Salad, $10. Aaron decided on the Shrimp Roll, $21.

I’m not a food critic, but I know what I like. I hate to say I was not impressed with the tea-room portion size of their tenderloin sandwich. Keep in mind, this is not criticism. This is a tea house for women. This is not a biker bar hangout. In my opinion, the sandwich's flavor was bland. However, the French onion soup was pretty good.

I asked Aaron how he felt about his Shrimp Roll. “Shrimp cocktail on a piece of bread.”

I asked Bob and George about their salad. “It was okay.”

And the last question, “Would you come back to this place?”

The answer was unanimous. But hold your horses.

As we were about to leave, one of the other waitresses was taking a dessert to a different table. She hesitated to tempt us, thinking one of us might order what they call a Chocolate Torte. (That’s a fancy name for a 4-layer Chocolate cake.) I admit it, it looked pretty tasty; I asked her to hold still for a second, I wanted to get a picture of this 4-layer monstrosity. I can only hope whoever ordered the cake took most of it home. Needless to say, I had to check the menu to see the damage to someone’s wallet: $12.

We were all up from the table putting on our winter coats when I happened to look over at my new female friend on the other side of the room. You remember her. The woman I met at the front door. Her gal pal had entered the building, and I had missed her entrance. Her gal pal had her back to me at the table. I noticed she had her hair in a French Roll. She had a very attractive hairstyle from the back.

I had the option of walking out of the restaurant without saying anything or going over and saying goodbye. Or have a great holiday. I decided to push my luck. I walked to their table. I purposefully stood at the side of their table as if I were a ‘Maître D’ until they both looked up at me. I looked down at the new arrival on my left and said,

“Have we met?”

She smiled, “We are old friends, don’t you remember? How quickly you forget.”

(Suddenly, I realized they had been talking about her friend’s experience at the front door. And it was obvious the new arrival was willing to play. This should be fun.)

“Aw, yes, yes, I remember now, Darling, may I ask if you have been discreet with your friend across the table? Have you learned anything that would be useful?”

“She has informed me of your dilettante.”

I turned to my front door friend and gestured, “Darling, you told me to keep it on the down low. I hope you didn’t disclose too much.” I then turned to the new arrival.

“May I say, I was admiring your hairstyle from across the room, and I must admit, you wear it well. Darling, what do you call the style of hair at the back of your head? It’s very attractive on you.”

“Thank you, it’s called a French Roll.”

A waitress was walking by, watching the conversation. I asked the waitress if she wouldn’t mind taking a picture of us. I looked at my front door friend for permission.

She said, “As long as it doesn’t go on social media.”

“Darling, social media? What’s that?”

“The perfect answer!” She said.

“Well, it’s good to see both of you again. I hate to hello and run. But I must bid you Adieu. Until we meet again, happy holidays.”

“And to you!”

The boys were waiting for me at the front of the restaurant by the Christmas tree. I told them I wanted a picture of the four of us before we left. Paul Slagle (Owner) was standing close by and offered to take our picture.

DUNCAN - BOB - GEORGE - AARON

DUNCAN - BOB - GEORGE - AARON

After taking pictures, I asked Paul about the restaurant. I told him I looked online and realized he was a paster-turned restaurant entrepreneur. How did his travels in life lead from religion to opening a restaurant? He told me things I already knew, and some things I didn’t. He said he was fortunate to be blessed with … money? He didn’t use the word money … he didn’t use the word assets; he used the word “blessed.” Leaving me with a mental footnote that somehow he came into funds, wealth, or circumstances that allowed him to open a small restaurant.

I asked about the chandeliers, “Were they hanging when he purchased the building?”

“No, they’re new.”

“Really, where did you find them?”

“On Amazon.”

“They are beautiful, do you mind if I ask what they cost?”

The minute the words came out of my mouth, I knew that I had committed a social faux pas. Never ask anyone how much anything costs. Not their home, their car, or their chandeliers. It’s just not done in polite society.

I immediately tried to figure out why my subconscious mind had allowed me to ask that question. I quickly realized that my job for the last 30 years as a mortgage lender may have allowed me to ask questions.

(I asked a lot of questions to hundreds of people.)

What is your income? How much money do you have in the bank? How many charge cards do you have, what are the balances, what are your car payments, how much money do you owe other people. It was my job as a mortgage lender to determine whether this borrower could repay us. Could the borrower afford the house?

Was I trying to evaluate whether Paul and Shelly would have a prosperous business, or whether this business would fail?

What surprised me was that he answered quickly as a matter of fact. “$500.00”

I will admit, I mentally counted the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. There were six of them. $500 x 6 = $3.000.00.

I realize I have said, Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But my eyes are blind to the $3,000 of chandeliers. Well, let’s put it this way. Do the $3,000 chandeliers add that much ambiance to the room? I’ll let you answer that question.

I then asked him where he bought the Christmas tree. He informed me he got that at Amazon, too.

I asked, “Would you mind sharing your faith background with me?”

“Pentecostal.”

“Do you speak in tongues?”

He hesitated. Then said, “Yes. At times.”

“Do you know the church Calvary Tabernacle, on Fletcher Ave in Fountain Square?”

“No.”

“Do the names Nathaniel and Jean Urshan mean anything to you?”

“No, I’m not aware of the names.”

When I was young. How young? I don’t remember my age at the time. My grandmother, “Sister Sarah Perdue,” took me to her church (Calvary Tabernacle) to show me off.

(grandparents used to do that).

I assume I was 4-5-6 years old. I was sitting with her on the left side of the church, two or three rows back from the front, and she was standing and singing. I was not sure what to do, so I continued to sit in the pew and wait. When the piano, organ, drums, and guitars blended into a prayer orgy, my grandmother had a fit. She began waving her hands in the air and started screaming, shouting, and speaking a language I had never heard before. I thought she was having a heart attack. I was scared stiff.

That night, I was introduced to the Pentecostal religion, where they speak in tongues and praise the Lord. My grandmother took me to her church several times, and I became somewhat comfortable with the format. I knew what to expect. I was never overwhelmed with the emotion to speak in tongues, myself. However, I did notice a pretty girl in the second row, center. I asked Grandmother who she was.

“Oh, that’s Sharon Urshan, she is the daughter of the preacher Nathaniel Urshan.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I had an eye for the pretty ladies even at 5-6 years old and in church. And to be honest, Sharon kept looking at me, too. Nothing ever came of it. I don’t think I was allowed to visit my grandmother’s Pentecostal Calvary Tabernacle church that often. Maybe as I got older, I had other interests. Or perhaps grandma passed and I simply never returned to Calvery. I’m ashamed to say, I don’t remember when Grandma passed. My parent believed in the American Baptist doctrine. And I was exposed to the ‘Baptist Format’ my entire life,

PAUL SLAGLE - DUNCAN

Before we left the Parlor P.S., I asked Bob to take a picture of Paul and me. Paul was only too happy to pose for the photo with me. Good luck to Shelly and Paul.