Saturday was my mother-in-law’s 91st birthday. So we all set out for The Spread Eagle Tavern in Hanoverton.

Never heard of it? It’s one of those fancy places where you pay after you eat.

Hanoverton is in Columbiana County, a half-hour east of Canton, on U.S. 30. Hanoverton is nothing much to look at today, but up on the hill sit a row of historic brick buildings left over from the village’s halcyonic days as a thriving port on the Sandy and Beaver Canal. The Spread Eagle Tavern is in one of those buildings. It’s been there since 1837.

It’s a beautiful old place. Lots of exposed beams and brick and 19th century antiques. It’s also very Republican. The owners are big in the Grand Old Party and it’s a must stop for Republican politicians. There are pictures everywhere of Nixon, Reagan, Eisenhower and both Bushes.

My favorite is a large autographed group shot of the Republicans that sat on the House Judiciary Committee when it impeached President Clinton a decade ago. You don’t see that at the Olive Garden.

There are also plaques on the backs of chairs were prominent Republicans have sat. I forgot to check this time, but previously I’ve rubbed bottoms with Jack Kemp, Senator Bob Taft and Donna Douglas. That’s right Donna Douglas, Ellie Mae on the Beverly Hillbillies. Don’t ask. I have no idea.

The food is a bit pricey but very good. The service is very good, too. Our waiter Saturday was Chad. He had―how should I put this―a certain je ne sais quoi about him. It took him five minutes to rattle off all the soups de jour and recommended entrees. He pronounced all of the French sauces perfectly.

He also cheerfully answered my question about the strange looking wood crate contraption hanging next to the fireplace. It was an 18th-century painier, he explained. That’s French for bread holder. It was his favorite piece in the tavern. Worth over $100,000, he said.

So we ordered and I had le porkchop with Bourbon sauce. My father-in-law did, too. Carol had some fancy fish thing and Birthday Girl had some shrimp and pasta deal smothered in cream sauce.

While we ate, a man and wife were seated next to us. From the way they were looking about, they had never been there before. Chad brought them a basket of bread and then went through his spiel of soups de jour and recommended entrees. Then he disappeared while they scrutinized the menu. As they did, they giggled at Chad and his spiel. “I didn’t understand a damn word he said,” I heard the husband whisper.

When Chad returned, the wife announced she was going to have the mushroom burger. Chad was undaunted with her choice. “With our spicy dijon mustard perhaps?”

She hemmed and hawed.

“On the side perhaps?” Chad asked hopefully.

“Okay,” she said.

Now it was the husband’s turn. He pointed at his menu. “I’ll have that barbecued beef sandwich,” he said.

“Excellent choice,” said Chad, i.e., for a goober like you.

Now, I did not write this to make fun of the couple with the simple tastes. As I’ve pointed out repeatedly on this blog, I am from a place called Bennett’s Corners. Nor did I write this to make fun of Chad. He was a great waiter. Worth more than we could afford to tip him.

It’s just that is was such an interesting little vignette. Everybody so out of place. In that fancy restaurant, in the middle of nowhere. Being so wonderfully human.

That is one of the problems with being a novelist. You are never off the clock. You are always, in the parlance of our trade, in third-person omniscient mode. Watching total strangers like they are your own creations. Trying to figure out what they are thinking and feeling without knowing one thing about them.

And I can’t even mind my own business without going into third-person omniscient mode. I am forever catching myself sucking in my stomach when a good-looking young woman walks by. Or worse yet, checking to make sure my zipper is up.

We are all wonderfully human. And, unfortunately, all fodder for some writer.

Viva la difference!