← Gone Away
The Incredible Disappearing Restaurant
(This article forms part of the Journal that I am writing to describe my impressions of America since arrival in September, 2004. To begin reading this Journal from the beginning, click here.)
One of the virtues of staying in a motel is that decisions have to be made on where to eat each night. In America, where friendly and well-informed motel receptionists are standard issue, it is good policy to listen carefully to advice from such receptacles of local knowledge. And it was through such an excellent strategy that we found ourselves searching for a place called Charlie's (not its real name) on a damp evening in Vicksburg.
The address supplied directed us to the heart of the old town where restaurants were many and diverse in their trumpeted attractions. Yet, though we tramped up and down in both directions, there seemed to be no Charlie's in the area. We settled in the end for an Italian alternative, a place that looked the part but was slightly disappointing in that the food did not quite equal the decor. I am English and so hesitant to complain of food quality and, besides, it was edible enough. And I took amusement rather than offence from the fact that the five-times-ordered bread rolls did not arrive until we had finished our meal. We put it down to the staff being new to the game.
The next day, we renewed our search for Charlie's and, in a back alley, found a car park clearly designated as belonging to that hallowed institution. Fanning out from this point, we examined all the likely buildings but still failed to find any sign of the recommended restaurant. Our later cross examination of the receptionist revealed that the famous Charlie's had burned down a few weeks before and that the establishment was now housed in temporary accommodation in the same street but farther from the center of the town than we had suspected. That evening we set out with fresh determination to achieve our goal.
The sudden increase in parked cars on the outskirts of town should have alerted us to the fact that we were close to the target, but we still succeeded in driving past the place before noticing, at the last moment, the sign announcing arrival at our intended destination. A quick trip around the block gave us another bite at the cherry and we found a parking spot right outside the elusive establishment. Charlie's, in all its glory, beckoned to us.
Inside we found that the place was full and that we would have to wait our turn before being seated. This is not unusual in America, the most popular eating places often being over-subscribed, and so we settled to bide our time for the advised twenty minutes or so. We amused ourselves by observing the proceedings in the sparsely-furnished and decorated room (understandable in view of the recent conflagration suffered in the restaurant's original home).
Something interesting was happening at a table near us. A young man was filming while a trio sat and talked over their desserts. Most striking of the three diners was a large handsome man of expertly-managed coiffure and the plastic complexion and tan of a movie star. He said little, seemingly content to bestow his beauty upon the assembly, while his female companion (of far more interesting appearance) chattered away happily with the third member of the trio, a very ordinary-looking man that we presumed was the director or producer of the film.
Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the tableau was that the cameraman showed no interest in filming the human participants. He was concentrating on the desserts, at one point even moving a particularly fanciful concoction to the seat of a chair and then zooming in on it with true devotion to his task. We presumed that they were in the last moments of making a commercial to announce to the world the delights of eating at Charlie's.
After a while the filming came to an end and the party packed up and left, leaving us with little to do but gaze at menus as periodically we shuffled closer to the front of the line. Deciding that I had time for a little diversion, I stepped outside and lit a cigarette.
I was barely halfway through satisfying my nicotine craving when the others came bundling outside and headed for the car. "Ridge saw the cook handling the food without gloves," explained Kathy.
And so our visit to Charlie's was brought to an untimely end. The restaurant had succeeded in becoming invisible to us yet again. Now we were confronted with the task of finding an alternative place to eat. Various possibilities were mentioned but I had a hankering to return to the restaurant we had tried when we first arrived in Vicksburg. This was Maxwell's, an establishment some distance from town but with excellent food and prices no higher than Charlie's. There was also a good chance that we might have the services of Herman again.
Now, Herman is one of the strongest reasons for this upcoming recommendation that you eat at Maxwell's, if ever you find yourself hungry in Vicksburg. Herman is a server of distinctive originality, a man truly to be respected in his refusal to pander to the expected norms of his profession. He is neither obsequious nor overly friendly and he makes no concession to the fact that you are the customer. This is his restaurant after all and it is your good fortune to have found the place at all. Here you will be fed the best food in Mississippi. Herman knows this and is happy to assist in your choice if required, but do not expect to order him around as if he were some menial in a fast food joint. He serves you because he chooses to do so and there is no shame in that.
On our first visit, Herman proved to be helpful, if somewhat aloof, and I had warmed to his style as the meal progressed. The quality of the food was such that I recognized and concurred with his obvious feeling that we were privileged to be customers of such a fine establishment. I was pleased, therefore, when my quiet suggestion of "Maxwell's again" was favorably received by all in the car.
For some inexplicable reason, Maxwell's does not suffer from the overcrowding evident in so many of the restaurants in Vicksburg. We found ourselves to be only the third party to descend upon the place that night. This meant that we did not have to stand in line and were ushered immediately to a table. And Herman proved to be our server again.
This time, Herman accepted us from the start. In returning, we had proved ourselves people of good taste and discernment and so were allowed into Herman's good graces. That night we shared many a good laugh with him and the occasion was one of excellent food and fine company. Once again, I can only suggest that you sample the delights of Maxwell's if ever you get the chance. And hope that you get Herman to honor you with his services. You'll not regret it.
Oh, and when we asked for more bread, Herman supplied it readily with a quip and a huge grin...
(to go directly to the next entry in the Journal, click here)
One of the virtues of staying in a motel is that decisions have to be made on where to eat each night. In America, where friendly and well-informed motel receptionists are standard issue, it is good policy to listen carefully to advice from such receptacles of local knowledge. And it was through such an excellent strategy that we found ourselves searching for a place called Charlie's (not its real name) on a damp evening in Vicksburg.
The address supplied directed us to the heart of the old town where restaurants were many and diverse in their trumpeted attractions. Yet, though we tramped up and down in both directions, there seemed to be no Charlie's in the area. We settled in the end for an Italian alternative, a place that looked the part but was slightly disappointing in that the food did not quite equal the decor. I am English and so hesitant to complain of food quality and, besides, it was edible enough. And I took amusement rather than offence from the fact that the five-times-ordered bread rolls did not arrive until we had finished our meal. We put it down to the staff being new to the game.
The next day, we renewed our search for Charlie's and, in a back alley, found a car park clearly designated as belonging to that hallowed institution. Fanning out from this point, we examined all the likely buildings but still failed to find any sign of the recommended restaurant. Our later cross examination of the receptionist revealed that the famous Charlie's had burned down a few weeks before and that the establishment was now housed in temporary accommodation in the same street but farther from the center of the town than we had suspected. That evening we set out with fresh determination to achieve our goal.
The sudden increase in parked cars on the outskirts of town should have alerted us to the fact that we were close to the target, but we still succeeded in driving past the place before noticing, at the last moment, the sign announcing arrival at our intended destination. A quick trip around the block gave us another bite at the cherry and we found a parking spot right outside the elusive establishment. Charlie's, in all its glory, beckoned to us.
Inside we found that the place was full and that we would have to wait our turn before being seated. This is not unusual in America, the most popular eating places often being over-subscribed, and so we settled to bide our time for the advised twenty minutes or so. We amused ourselves by observing the proceedings in the sparsely-furnished and decorated room (understandable in view of the recent conflagration suffered in the restaurant's original home).
Something interesting was happening at a table near us. A young man was filming while a trio sat and talked over their desserts. Most striking of the three diners was a large handsome man of expertly-managed coiffure and the plastic complexion and tan of a movie star. He said little, seemingly content to bestow his beauty upon the assembly, while his female companion (of far more interesting appearance) chattered away happily with the third member of the trio, a very ordinary-looking man that we presumed was the director or producer of the film.
Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the tableau was that the cameraman showed no interest in filming the human participants. He was concentrating on the desserts, at one point even moving a particularly fanciful concoction to the seat of a chair and then zooming in on it with true devotion to his task. We presumed that they were in the last moments of making a commercial to announce to the world the delights of eating at Charlie's.
After a while the filming came to an end and the party packed up and left, leaving us with little to do but gaze at menus as periodically we shuffled closer to the front of the line. Deciding that I had time for a little diversion, I stepped outside and lit a cigarette.
I was barely halfway through satisfying my nicotine craving when the others came bundling outside and headed for the car. "Ridge saw the cook handling the food without gloves," explained Kathy.
And so our visit to Charlie's was brought to an untimely end. The restaurant had succeeded in becoming invisible to us yet again. Now we were confronted with the task of finding an alternative place to eat. Various possibilities were mentioned but I had a hankering to return to the restaurant we had tried when we first arrived in Vicksburg. This was Maxwell's, an establishment some distance from town but with excellent food and prices no higher than Charlie's. There was also a good chance that we might have the services of Herman again.
Now, Herman is one of the strongest reasons for this upcoming recommendation that you eat at Maxwell's, if ever you find yourself hungry in Vicksburg. Herman is a server of distinctive originality, a man truly to be respected in his refusal to pander to the expected norms of his profession. He is neither obsequious nor overly friendly and he makes no concession to the fact that you are the customer. This is his restaurant after all and it is your good fortune to have found the place at all. Here you will be fed the best food in Mississippi. Herman knows this and is happy to assist in your choice if required, but do not expect to order him around as if he were some menial in a fast food joint. He serves you because he chooses to do so and there is no shame in that.
On our first visit, Herman proved to be helpful, if somewhat aloof, and I had warmed to his style as the meal progressed. The quality of the food was such that I recognized and concurred with his obvious feeling that we were privileged to be customers of such a fine establishment. I was pleased, therefore, when my quiet suggestion of "Maxwell's again" was favorably received by all in the car.
For some inexplicable reason, Maxwell's does not suffer from the overcrowding evident in so many of the restaurants in Vicksburg. We found ourselves to be only the third party to descend upon the place that night. This meant that we did not have to stand in line and were ushered immediately to a table. And Herman proved to be our server again.
This time, Herman accepted us from the start. In returning, we had proved ourselves people of good taste and discernment and so were allowed into Herman's good graces. That night we shared many a good laugh with him and the occasion was one of excellent food and fine company. Once again, I can only suggest that you sample the delights of Maxwell's if ever you get the chance. And hope that you get Herman to honor you with his services. You'll not regret it.
Oh, and when we asked for more bread, Herman supplied it readily with a quip and a huge grin...
(to go directly to the next entry in the Journal, click here)