Soccercomplexity > Soccercomplexity's Blog Posts > Order What You Want Eat What You Get

February 13, 2007 22:35

The sign near the door reads, “Order what you want. Eat what you get.” Charlene’s Diner in Jewitt City is a drab narrow building on Main Street, the sort of place that doesn’t entice much walk-in traffic. I would have never known it existed were it not for a friend who took me there fifteen years ago. So, last November, on a crisp Sunday morning when my wife suggested that we go out for breakfast before the children got up, “Charlene’s,” was my response. “I’ve been wanting to take you; you’ll love it.” I hadn’t been back to Charlene’s in years and we weren’t disappointed: it was everything I had remembered. Now with the news that this November will find Charlene in a new location, Exit 87 off of I-395 and more accessible to the casino traffic, I wonder if the essence of the diner will move with it.

The diner itself, the building, is remarkable primarily because it has survived. The gallery of pictures authenticates its history, long before Charlene became the proprietor. Regardless of whether it was ever a working dining car, it sure feels real. It’ s cramped and linear. As you sit in one of the four or five booths in the “addition” you can see where the flat low ceiling of the added room meets the arched roof of the original “dining car.” The sense is that you are in the diner and outside of it simultaneously, for the original car has its entire side cut away to accommodate the addition, giving the faint impression of a museum display. From there, you can watch the two cooks, Charlene and her assistant, maneuver carefully past one another between the counter and a compact grill, and Charlene’s daughter weave between them to retrieve coffee or an order. The patrons sitting on stools at the counter have their backs to the opening, adding to the effect of a living diorama.

The gleaming stainless steel and liberal use of glass and bright colors that traditionally adorn classic diners of the ‘50s is absent here. The only hint of art deco is the platinum—platinum hair. Charlene, her assistant, and her daughter Sue, all sport platinum hair, which contrasts starkly with the common colors of the interior. Like the dining car, the hair may not be original: but it sure is real. That’s, at least partly, why I like Charlene’s. It feels real, honest, straightforward.

Regardless of what you order, you always get what you want, good food and the time for conversation. The operation is not a show, it’s transparent. The process of serving the 25 or so patrons that the diner can hold is smooth and seamless. The waitress doesn’t care if you know her name; she cares that you enjoy your meal. Your order isn’t shouted to Charlene, but communicated through conversation. “How many eggs in that ham omelet?” “Three and a side of home fries, wheat toast.” In fact, without consciously listening, a patron might wonder how the order was filled at all. After all, the waitress doesn’t write anything down. There are no checks. She never asks, “So who had the pancakes?” or “Would you like separate checks or will this be all together?” Consciousness. Sue listens the first time. Then she repeats your order to her mother, conversationally. And when the food arrives, it’s prepared as ordered and placed in front of the right person. Competence. No announcement, no confusion, no checks. That’s the other reason I like Charlene’s. Theyre so good at what they do that I find myself wanting to acknowledge their competence beyond the gratuitous way, to comment on it, to discuss it with them. But I dont. That would spoil the atmosphere, make it seem contrived. The closest I came was when I bought a T-shirt commemorating their twentieth anniversary for the friend who had first taken me there.

“I’m buying it for a friend who used to come here a lot about ten years ago, you might remember him,” I began to describe my friend physically.

“What’d he order?” Charlene asked,’ I’d probably remember him if you knew what he ordered.” She probably would.

Its not even possible to leave Charlene’s in typical fashion: “Let’s see twenty percent, remembering to over-tip breakfast waitresses, of….of what?” You’re not even sure what the meal cost. When you depart, Sue meets you at the register, recites your order again as she tallies the bill. “Blueberry pancakes, small orange juice, coffee, ....” Patron after patron, regardless of how many or how large a group, casually pays the bill in the face of this remarkable competence.

The focus on food and conversation is as it should be for a diner. But at Charlene’s it’s the diners honest, competent and relaxed personality that enables genuine and easy conversation among its patrons. The atmosphere also serves as a subtle but potent reminder that the day is to be relished. While the move to a larger place may be good for her business, it will be a challenge to maintain the diner’s identity: even for Charlene. The new location won’t accommodate watching her work at the grill making no-look shots with eggshells into the trash bin something she promises interested patrons can see by coming into the kitchen of the new place. The separation of the kitchen from the dining area will inhibit conversation with her daughter, and the new patrons will require 24-hour service, a volume and duration that will tax even Sue’s memory, necessitating new employees. Probably brunettes.

So, this weekend I’ll make one final trip to the old Charlene’s with our eldest son, he’ll be visiting, and he appreciates a good breakfast and good conversation. I haven’t shared my thoughts about the diner with him, nor will I now, for I want him to experience it without prejudice, just in case or really before it changes. One thing’s certain, I’m not going to mourn the change because like Charlene, I understand that sometimes in life you have to eat what you get, even if it’s not what you ordered.

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