Valley Dairy, just as it was, and it was good.

I used to eat at Valley Dairy a lot in the old Butler Mall on New Castle Road when I was little. About a year ago, I spied a new (!) Valley Dairy just south of the Cranberry Mall, near Oil City, and hope arose for a return. Why was I drawn back? Was it the annoying flies brought in because of the clever location in the mall right next to the main entrance? Was it the dingy atmosphere? Was it nostalgia for low-end sit down chains of the eighties? Nope. I'd take all of that for a taste of the best fries and gravy ever. EVER. It was the taste that launched a nationwide twenty year search for a hot roast beef sandwich, fries, covered with gravy that might compare. But, alas, I could never bring myself to drive all the way back down to Butler, for a restaurant that might not even be around any more.

So, having seen the Valley Dairy in Cranberry with my own eyes, shocked to find a "new" location, I've been working up to asking my wife to let me go, the fear of total letdown and disappointment weighing heavily on my mind.

Today, we drove to Titusville. I did a little under twenty miles on the excellent bike trail in Oil Creek State Park. My wife kayaked. I met her ten miles south in Petroleum Center, and realized that we were close enough to Cranberry to ask... The dog was at home, we had time before the Red Wings would be on. Could we go to Valley Dairy?

She said, yes!

I was careful not to get my hopes up as we drove the long ten additional miles out of our way, telling Tiffany we'd probably end up having to find something else to eat, that it was a restaurant for old people, that she could at least get a decent milkshake, after all, it's a dairy, while I thought the unthinkable, that the vaunted gravy recipe from my youth might still be there.

We entered. Strange... Clean, bright. Relatively normal people there. No flies. My hopes began to be dashed. The chain might have been purchased, the name stolen. But, the buckets of Valley Dairy ice cream in the cooler as I walked in, made fresh in Western Pennsylvania steeled my resolve.

We sat down, and my eyes raced across the menu. Burgers... Appetizers... Gusto Fries? No California Melt? No hot roast beef? Tiffany, ever the cool headed one, pointed to a hidden corner of the menu, where hot sandwiches were offered, Meat Loaf, Turkey, and... Roast Beef... I ordered so quickly, I forgot the root beer float I used to order and had to settle for a Dr. Pepper.

Before I knew it, (by the way, the service??? EXCELLENT!) the sandwich, the fries, and the gravy were upon me. (Not literally, at least at first.) Ignoring the sandwich, which was always just a garnish anyway, I dove into the fries with my fork. The fries, not too crispy, just strong enough to remain fries long enough to surrender to the gravy, pushed easily onto my fork, just as I remembered, as the smells from my youth wafted upwards. They tasted exactly the same. Exactly.

The next fifteen minutes were a blur of satisfaction. I only remember that Tiffany ordered an excellent fudge, chocolate cake, and ice cream desert, and she was almost as happy as I was. And if you know Tiffany, that is saying a lot.