Americana à la Carte

When you enter an American city, even a small one, the tendrils of old time America trail off and disappear into the bulldozed, concreted urban mass.  I’m taking about the fruit and vegetable stands, the mom and pop groceries, the cheap diners with stained tablecloths, and the seafood shops whose hot grease aroma washes over you when you step out of your car.

Across the street from where my parents once lived, there used to be a good-sized stand with a hand painted sign advertising sweet melons.  Bushel baskets of brown skinned onions sat about.  Hand-sized wood cartons of bright red tomatoes, green peppers, green cased ears of corn, and yellow summer squash sat on long, trestle tables.  Down the street, a BBQ joint selling thick sandwiches of smoked pork welcomed you with wisps of fragrant smoke.  No longer.  They’ve been replaced by a branch bank and a big-chain supermarket.  You want some Americana, you have to venture farther a field.  Don’t even bother to look until you glance out the window at green pastures and rows of corn.  That’s when you find out it’s not just the vegetables and BBQ that’s missing.

I was outside Whitesboro, Texas, when I stopped at a vegetable stand.  Didn’t need vegetables.  “I’m lost,” I confessed to a man in jeans, a calico shirt, and a baseball cap.

“Fred,” he twanged at one of his customers, “Do you know where (whare) that road is?”  Fred didn’t know, but he suggested the guy running the bait shop next door might.  I started to walk that way, but Fred had already left.  “Jest a sec,” the owner told me.

About 30 seconds later, the man from the bait shop walked in.  Turned out he didn’t know either, but he led me back to his shop where he had some maps.  The maps did no good, so he called his friend who’s a fireman.  A little while later, I was on my way straight to my destination.  Folks with big, friendly hearts are never too busy to help.

I’m pleased to report I found similar hospitality in the sprawling outskirts of Atlanta.

Truett Cathy’s first Atlanta restaurant was called the Dwarf Grill, a humble beginning to what has become the second largest fast food chain, Chick-fil-a.  Now a nation-wide collection of 1500 plus restaurants, with over $3.2 billion in annual sales, something new has been added, a group of nostalgia-laced eateries called Truett’s Grill, featuring a 1950’s era décor, complete with old cars, gas pumps, naugyhide covered booths, a toy train that races above the diners, and one heck of a southern breakfast.  But, more than that, the waitresses greet you with a “Mornin’, Hon” and hustle to take your order.  Coffee appears as if by mental telepathy.  All of this reflects the humble beginning and humble heart of their employer, Truett Cathy.  Never met the man myself, but good or bad, everything starts at the top.  Talked to a couple who go to church with Truett and couldn’t stop talking about all he’s done for the community and especially for small business just starting out.

Best of all was the breakfast of fried chicken filet, two eggs over easy, grits, and biscuit.  But, I have to admit the meal tasted a little better knowing about the warmth of the man who made it possible.

On the rough edges of Orangeburg, South Carolina, I found Duke’s BBQ.  Found it on a Saturday, as I passed through. Normally, I'm not attracted to BBQ restaurants with a buffet.  Normally.  Dukes was different and even if the smoked pork lacked a bit and the green beans were cooked past their prime, it was still worth a stop, just to observe the folks inside.  If the rough edges of South Carolina still hold to the old ways, you’d never notice at Duke’s. People of every background flock to the place.  High school grads, still wearing their mortarboards came in with their families.  Workmen wore stained clothes while they gobbled their ‘cue.  In one corner, a family and friends in coats and ties and dresses sat and prayed before digging in.

I’m not one of those who hunger for the good old days.  I like some of the big chain stores and the convenience of Internet shopping.  Sill, it’s nice to know the simple, friendly heart of America still beats as strong as ever.