THE
BLUE BOX (Recycled Ideas)
by Don Cox
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Wherever you go, at home or abroad, you can always find
a place where nourishment is available at minimal prices.
These establishments are a community necessity and are always
well patronized, but unfortunately they usually get called
"The Greasy Spoon". It's true that minimal prices are accompanied
by minimal peripherals, no table cloth, coat rack at the
back, unisex toilet, but these places are a community treasure,
and certainly don't deserve a nasty pejorative like "Greasy
Spoon". I want to reverse this negative image and give these
wonderful institutions some of the place in the sun that
they deserve.
The Greasy Spoon is to normal restaurants as your neighbourhood
farmer is to the factory farm. The produce from a factory
farm is wonderfully uniform, and uniformly boring. By the
same token, your neighbourhood farmer may not always have
the slickest packaging or the most uniform size of eggs,
but you know the beef is from cows that had a life, and
the hens made eggs from bugs and worms and not from chemicals.
The local Spoon is like that, there's a healthy variation
and they frequently come up with pleasant surprises.
Our greasy spoon goes by the name of "Cafe Cosy". Once
inside and seated, Annie (pronounced Ah-NEE) brings a default
table setting. "Default" is a cyber-word for simplest and
most obvious, and a default setting is knife, fork, and
teaspoon set on a legal sized paper place mat with ads on
it. There's napkins in the dispenser on the table, help
yourself.
I was sitting with my rent-a-son Dave in the Cosy last
night enjoying a poutine, that's fries with gravy and topped
with cheese curd, the ultimate junk food. The fries at the
Cosy are to die for, always the right taste and texture.
I said to Annie, "You make such great fries, I bet you have
a little grandmother out in the kitchen who does nothing
but peel potatoes so the fries will be fresh." Annie gave
me a puzzled look and said, "Yeah, sure, and she makes the
carrot cake too, want to meet her?" A short time later a
little old lady showed her head out the kitchen door and
waved at me, a little shyly I thought.
I finished the poutine and then the carrot cake somewhat
thoughtfully. Carrot cake like that is one of life's treasures,
and grandma seems a pleasant person. Hmmm... I wonder if
it's time to consider having a social life again.
Bluebox ©2001 Don Cox
Website ©2001 OttawaWEB
