Frank Bruni wrote a column recently in the New York Times
about the flood of restaurants that we are losing nationally due to the
pandemic. And that we really need to
take note, and maybe try to do our best to preserve wherever we can. He was writing really about restaurants as a
cultural phenomenon. And his column
caused me to think back, because restaurants to us have become an important
part of our lives together.
Because I grew up relatively poor, living in a single
parent’s home during the Second World War, restaurants did not figure much in
our early lives. But they did still figure.
When I was very little, we lived in Brooklyn with my mom’s parents. Grandpa
Inglis continued to make a modest income working on building or repairing
houses in Flatbush. They had a modest bungalow in what is remembered as a rural
part of Brooklyn, if that can be believed.
I have dim memories of wandering from their bungalow and encountering a
field where cows resided. In Brooklyn.
And then the War broke out—yeah that Second World War
thingie. And my mom somehow figured out a way to get herself trained as a
bookkeeper—she did not go past 8th grade. My sister, in contrast
(being ten years older than me) went on to Julia Richmond High School for a
couple of years, before she dropped out and went to work. It was War Time and
women were in demand. So, my Mom and my
sis got jobs with a naval architectural firm, Gibbs and Cox, in lower Manhattan. And so we moved into Manhattan, into a flat
on Second Avenue. As I was then 6 in
1940, and my brother was 10, we attended a school a couple of blocks away. And
we played on the streets of New York, while my mom and my sis worked to support
us.
But every now and again, my mom and her girlfriends would
take an evening and go to some club where they would have dinner and watch a
show (I guess things were a bit less expensive in 1940). And my mom would give
my brother a couple of dollars which we could use to go to a neighborhood
Italian restaurant a couple of blocks uptown from our 71st Street
flat. But think of that. A ten year old and a six year old would walk a couple
of blocks uptown and go to a neighborhood restaurant where we would dine
together. That was my first restaurant experience. And that experienced kicked off
a lifelong love affair with restaurants.
I don’t think we went out to dine more than a few times together, my bro
and me. But it awakened my brain to the thrill of dining out.
Note, we did not have many dining out experiences.
Generally, we were lucky to be able to dine in.
And, then, after the War, my mom grew tired of having her two young sons
playing on the streets of New York, and routinely getting hurt. So, she took
some savings she had managed to accrue during that War, and used it to buy an
old bungalow in Rockland County, New City Park.
It was a place where New Yorkers would come to spend their summers out
of the city. And so we moved out of Manhattan.
And that restaurant thing, or “dining out”? Well, some, but
very little. Again, that money thing.
Plus, New City Park had no restaurants, and the nearby villages of New
City, Nanuet, and Spring Valley only had a few.
So, mostly, we “dined in”.
But then, I went off to college in the San Francisco Bay
Area, to Stanford. And then I got married and we moved to that same San
Francisco Bay Area. And there, my lifelong love affair with restaurants and
“dining out” became a real thing. Over my long lifetime, I have grown to
understand that New York City, Manhattan especially, is a restaurant-rich region.
But first, I had to discover San Francisco.
After we married, we settled into the Bay Area. Because I traveled a
fair amount, Carol and I arranged a standard baby sitter to care for our two
kids when we went out to dinner. And out we would go, not quite, but almost
every Saturday night. We had our
favorites of course. There were two
restaurants right across from where we lived on Nob Hill. One was a Russian
restaurant and one an Italian restaurant, both on California. But because we
lived on top of Nob Hill, we were surrounded by a restaurant-rich part of the
City. We had our choice of cuisine, both foreign and domestic, and including
all price ranges. We could walk to most of the city’s really fine restaurants, like
Ernie’s or The Blue Fox, or, sometimes we would drive. I just read about the
closure of The Cliff House restaurant, on the water overlooking the Pacific
Ocean. It was a treat because it was an old resort style restaurant, quite
lovely with a nice dinner awaiting you.
The area was so rich in restaurants that we would
periodically pick a restaurant blindly out of the yellow pages and dine there.
Literally, we were never disappointed.
Now, please remember, we never attended any fast food, or chain
restaurants. These were all one-of-a-kind places. But this was San Francisco in the 1950s and
1960s. And dining out was now a tradition, as I say, almost a weekly affair.
Now, mind you, restaurant closures was never even a thought
that ever passed into or through our heads. All the restaurants we attended
were filled with customers on every occasion we visited. Clearly, our love
affair with restaurants was shared by many of our city’s residents.
And then we were given the opportunity to travel abroad. Now, mind you, this was a huge opportunity, Aside
from our winging our way from New York to San Francisco, neither of us had ever
traveled very far from our respective home base. Even when we moved to San Francisco, we still
didn’t travel much. I had some business travel, but that was by myself, and,
although I dined out for every meal, it was by myself, so I count it not at all
in my tale of restaurants. See, dining
out is intended to be a shared experience. One eats exotic foods, yes, but one
also converses with someone close, while so dining, and drinking fine wines.
And this travel opportunity cemented our love affair with
restaurants and dining out.
On our first trip headed overseas, we stopped in Beirut.
Now, the well-traveled might consider this a mere trifle, but for two kids from
New York who had hardly ever been on a plane, our stop in Beirut was amazing.
Now, to be fair, we were traveling with two young kids and eleven suitcases,
cuz we were headed off for what turned out to be a four-year stint in New
Delhi, India. We arrived into a nice hotel in downtown Beirut, noting that the
taxi drivers all seemed to drive Mercedes, and everyone was smiling or
laughing. This, of course, was way
before everyone began killing everyone else just because they could. And we ordered room service for the kids and
we went out to dine. We dined outside at a nearby café, and simply drank in the
exotic aromas of a truly foreign land, and some wonderful Middle Eastern
cuisine. We both looked at each other in
amazement and ate slowly, but methodically, lingering on some lovely French
wine.
And then the next day we were all headed for New Delhi on
Pan Am #1.
Now dining out in India was special for many reasons. See,
we had servants, one of whom, Joseph, was our cook. He was the head man of five servants. So,
most of our meals were overseen by the memsahib, but prepared by Joseph, as
Carol slowly turned him into a chef superb.
But dine out we did. In Delhi, we grew accustomed to dining in Old
Delhi, at an outdoor restaurant called Moti Mahal. They prepared Chicken
Tandoori and Butter Chicken, along with some amazing vegetable dishes. But it was the whole experience that mattered.
Yes, the food was wonderful, but dining outside, watching all the other folks
also gathering and dining, looking at the night sky, and occasionally going
over to gaze into the open tandoor ovens where they cooked the tandoori
chickens and the Nan made the whole experience quite wonderful. Once, we even
dined there during a blackout. See the Pakistanis decided to wage war with
India, again, and so they would occasionally launch their US-supplied jet
fighter-bombers against India, which was protected by Russian SAM missiles. But dine we did, still enjoying our meals, but
watching the skies a bit more intensely.
And then we traveled around India, dining out wherever we
went—Jaipur, Agra, so many places so little time. But each time, the dining was
special. Yes, we insisted on good food, and India had an abundance of fine food
restaurants. But each experience was a complete cultural event. How about enjoying a fine meal at a local
restaurant and then traipsing over to the Taj Mahal to witness the Taj at full
moon, standing there bedazzled by the sight.
Or we traveled to one of India’s many “Hill Stations”,
places up in the mountains that the Brits created or captured for themselves to
escape the heat of India’s Monsoon season.
And each Hill Station had its own wonderful hotels (often palaces of one
or more of India’s rajah’s) and yes, restaurants. You could combine a
fine-dining experience with views of the Himalaya’s.
And we continued to travel, and dine. Once in Greece, we
visited Athens. And atop one of the hillsides in Athens, we dined out at a restaurant
atop Mount Lykavittos. And we drank a nice Greek retsina wine, ate some
wonderful Greek cuisine, while down below outside the acropolis, a son et
lumiere was going on. Or we sat outside
at a coastal restaurant in Mykonos, watching the sun setting over the
windmills, while we chatted and ate fine Greek food and drank some nice Greek
wine.
But whether we were in Germany, alongside the Rhine, or in
Bangkok, sitting on a barge cruising along a Thai canal, while drinking fine
wine and eating Thai food, the experiences continue to plow into our brains.
Interesting places, wonderful food, chatting with nearby people, and, of
course, looking into each other’s eyes as we lifted our wine and toasted, “To
Us”. We arrived back into the US aboard
a ship from London, and immediately greeted our family and then headed for a
nearby harbor restaurant, where our family toasted our return and we ate in
style, and enjoyed a nice bottle of 1959 Chateau Lafitte Rothschild.
See, the dining out with friends and family, perhaps
especially with a loved one, is a multifaceted cultural experience. It is a
phantasm of sights, smells, tastes and chattering, absorbing everything wonderful
in a few hours, but forging a memory lasting forever.
Wherever we lived we experimented with dining out, but we
often forged relationships with particular restaurants that offered us the fine
food and wine, but also a social experience. Here in Concord, we forged that
relationship with our local Italian restaurant, Gianni’s Trattoria, which is
like that show “Cheers”, where “everybody knows your name”. Fine food, wonderful chats with the owners and
their staff. This is the stuff of dining out. Now I should stress again, that I
am never speaking of fast food/chain restaurants. They are more like shopping
at your neighborhood supermarket. I refer in my wanderings here of local restaurants
that are one-of-a-kind. Locally owned,
with often long time staff, and chefs that keep trying to dazzle you, because
that is what they do.
And why do I go on and on here? Well, I fear that this
Pandemic is also a unique event, unique in its killing power. Yes, old folks
like me will get killed by this dreadful virus. But, it seems to possess even
greater powers, the power to kill restaurants, pubs, and other similar places.
How can these places survive, if people cannot go out and experience their
offerings? This damned COVID thing could
kill off a vital part of our culture.
And yes, I understand that other institutions also are
suffering and may be shuttering their services. But I mourn the loss of restaurants, because
they are such a wonderful addition to our lives. And I keep hoping that folks will do
everything they can to minimize the damage. We can buy gift cards, purchase
their take-out food, and even, whenever we are permitted by local ordinances
and common sense, return to dining in.
We will eventually survive this pandemic, because our
scientists continue to work at ways to defeat these virus creatures. Vaccines
and other scientific methods are being devised as we speak. And yes there will always be Stupid people
like President Trump who decry our scientists, mainly because that is what
stupid people do. And we will have to
also survive idiots like Trump, which hopefully our recent votes have
accomplished. But one can never be
certain. The idiots of the world procreate with abandon and they keep producing
more idiot-malenfants. So, we all need to keep our wits about us. Dine out With
Care. Vote With Care. And keep your brains alive and well. The only way to defeat idiots or viruses, is
with brains hard at work.
Welcome to the new world just now coming—2021, at your
disposal. Smart people are on the way now.