Wednesday, March 23, 2005Cafeteria PlanBeadle's Cafeteria, in Pasadena, California, is a place I've been eating at for more than 40 years.It has changed location since I first went there with my mom. The old place was wood-panelled, with a long hallway lined with oil paintings; I knew them intimately after years of standing in long lines waiting to get our trays. I can almost still see the paintings . . . one looked like summer, I think, with a boathouse and a lake. Another was autumnal, with brilliant foliage and a path through the woods. Last night I went back. It was stormy and raining and I needed something warm, soothing and simple. I rode the elevator from the parking lot with an older couple. I stepped out of the elevator, shaking off the cold, and suddenly felt like I was in another time, or another part of the world. The cashier greeted the couple by name. The green trays are exactly the same as they were 40 years ago. The dining room is empty. No long lines. No oil paintings for a young child to memorize as she waits. The room contains a smattering of diners, all old. There are two or three couples. A pair of men heatedly talking about something. A TV is on in the corner, for people who want to watch the news as they eat. A couple of people eat alone. Cafeterias are such old-fashioned places. The food is laid out, waiting for you. The people behind the counter are subservient, almost invisible. There's almost no interaction with them. No one comes up and introduces themselves by name or asks how "you guys are doing." In a cafeteria, that part of the personality of the restaurant is eliminated. Cafeterias are simple and efficient. You can be an individual there; if you want four helpings of boysenberry pie, you don't have to confess that need to anyone. You just take it. If you want three mashed potatoes and a green jello mold, that's fine. It's easier than cooking and there's a variety of simple things to choose from. I watch the couples in the room covertly. They have sat across from each other for decades. What must it be like to be them? To have their memories, their history? Where did they come from on this cold rainy night? Do they come here every night, wordlessly, without even thinking about it any more? It's like a collective dining room. A commons area like we had in college. You meet your friends or sit alone with your thoughts. What is it that's so gracious about a cafeteria? I think it's that the marketing spin has been removed. You don't have a menu describing the "house-made vinaigrette" or the "sauce beurre blanc" or perky little servers rattling off today's specials and leaving off the prices. The atmosphere is designed to make you comfortable -- not lure you in with seductive lighting and recessed fountains, or drive you away with tile floors and a bright acoustical clamor. A cafeteria is like a well-worn relationship. There are no secrets. No special surprises. You don't have to talk too much. The nourishment is given to you in any way you choose. Nothing manipulative. No hidden agendas. Funny how cafeterias are places we go when we're very young and very old. In between I think we like the dance of presentation and anticipation. We want to believe in the promise of the menu description. We want to find romance in the darkened corners. At the ends of our lives (and sometimes in the middle!) it's nicer to just take things at face value. To enjoy the conversation, sink into the newspaper, take a moment away from the sales pitches out there in the world. # posted by Katherine Doughtie Nolan @ 3:09 PM  
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