I want to share a story with you about Texas. I was down here on business, about 14 years back. Some of the people I was working with took me out for lunch. They took me to a classic roadside cafe, called 290 Cafe (for the route it was alongside). It is along the road that takes you to Elgin, the self appointed sausage capital. This cafe is located in the town of Manor (pronounced Maynor, strange but that is Texas and european roots).
The 290 Cafe is special, Salinger or Hemingway would do the description justice, I'll try. It's a red building with white trim and has an unpaved parking area outside. Trucks are parked any which way, so you have to get creative in how you go about parking your car. As you step from your car, especially on a hot summer's day, you can smell the grease and cholesterol. But for some strange reason it is not repulsive, it is pleasant and you feel as if you are stepping back to the fifties.
Walking inside the cafe, you immediately notice the seven ceiling fans. All are slowly rotating, but to a different timing. Your eyes then dropped to the counter. Six big men with summer cowboy hats tilted back on their heads were sitting at the counter having their lunch. Six men, six butt cracks (I wish I had my camera). The walls were lined with photographs of policemen from decades past. It's an interesting collection of black and white pictures. The old motorcycles and squad cars and the gentlemen in high legged boots propped on their vehicles with pride. In the center dining area there were tightly packed tables, always all full. Along the walls of the cafe are booths. One had just emptied, so the four of us went for it. As we slid across the cushion of the booth so everyone could get in, you instantly became aware that seating patterns had been established long ago. The seats had natural droops and if you didn't sit in your assigned droop, it was very uncomfortable for everyone else. If you sat in your assigned droop, after 15 minutes, it was very uncomfortable for you.
Our waitress was named Dorothy. She wore a denim skirt, white boots with tassle fringe, a red gingham shirt, a denim vest with a five pointed sheriff's badge on it. Her white hair was teased up in classic Texas big hair fashion. She had a thick accent for such a frail looking woman. I ordered a chicken fried steak (when in Rome), french fries and corn bread (it's delicous with jalepenas). She asked what dressing I wanted on my salad. Now here is an area I really need to watch out for, with my diabetes and all. So I asked her if they had a vinegarette. She goes, now put the accent there "Vinegarette, what the hell is vinegarette?". I said never mind, put italian on it. When the salad came, it was served in classic 50's fashion, about two inches of salad dressing developed a lake in the bottom of the bowl. The food was plentiful and delicous. You were quick to realize as you leave, that you wouldn't have to eat for a week after lunch at the Cafe 290.
The last time I ate at the Cafe 290 it was very disappointing...new management and everything had changed..been updated. Even the parking area had been paved. The taste of the food changed and the charm of the place was completely gone. I'll not go back but I will share with you this...although I never saw the Cafe 290 in its prime, I did see enough of it to capture a glimpse, an idea and the charm of a moment in American and Texas history.
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