GARY LEESON’S REQUIEM FOR THE GREASY SPOON

REQUIEM FOR THE GREASY SPOON

Garry Lesson

I would be remiss not to acknowledge that the Maritimes, particularly the Annapolis Valley, with their abundance of locally grown foods and fine wines, has become an epicentre of epicurean delights. But as an old neighbour of mine once said, “You couldn’t fire a shotgun along the valley without hitting several of those fancy new-fangled restaurants.”

Since my wife and I frequent several of the establishments he was referring to, I might have taken exception to his attitude, but I didn’t. I knew he remembered simpler times and longed for places where he once felt at home.

He couldn’t put a name to the places he missed, but I, a former city dweller remembering The Spot One Grill and the Chinese Restaurant across the road in Toronto, could have helped him with a label.

We don’t know who the first person held up an item of an eatery’s cutlery to study it in a better light and, spying a thin grey film all over it, decided that the institution and those like it should henceforth be known as Greasy Spoons. We’ll never know, but the term became an almost universal assignment.

Sadly most of these interesting albeit seedy cafes have all but gone the way of the Dodo bird — a bird they would have willingly cooked and served had they still been available and the price correct!

I say this tongue in cheek because I’m informed that many years ago (I’m talking specifically about the Depression years), the menus of many of the small restaurants in the Maritimes were heavily dependent on any inexpensive wild game that the cooks could get their hands on.

It was hoped that all the deer, moose, bear and the varied wildfowl or fish that made their way to their kitchens had been legally hunted and not acquired roadside on the way to the restaurant… but who would know or care once it was in the stew pot and tasted absolutely delicious?

That aside, in the 1970s, as I recall, after strict new rules came into effect, there were still a few places where you could get good old fashioned meat and potato meals at a reasonable price. These were not fancy establishments, far from it; they had the atmosphere of a down home kitchen. The meat was a trifle tough, the vegetables overcooked, and the coffee reprehensible. Still, the overall setting and the company were so convivial that you could overlook the minor deficiencies in the offerings on the menu: comfort food in a comfortable environment.

We still refer to these places as Greasy Spoons, but the name has become a term of endearment. In fact, even though the name suggests something that no longer exists (and maybe that’s not such a bad thing), several companies in the US are competing for the use of the name for their high-end restaurants in the big cities.

The days of bellying up to the lunch bar for a 25 cent ham and cheese sandwich or squeezing into a booth for a ten-cent banana split or nickel root beer float at the end of a heavy meal are just memories.

And if by way of a compliment, I ever told the owner of any of the establishments I now attend that I thought of the place as my favourite Greasy Spoon, they would undoubtedly take it the wrong way and escort me to the door! ❧

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