Wednesday,September 17, 2003

Restaurant's passing leaves dark shadow

For many years I was a regular customer at Shadows, the quintessential American restaurant in Peachtree City. Here, one could find savory pancakes and hash-browns that surpassed the quality of any competing restaurant in this locale. The serving size was definitely generous. I used to get a half order of hash-browns that were surely a bountiful culinary delight.

An unrelenting gloom like a winter's fog covering a dismal swamp settled upon my being as I read the obituary-like posting on the door announcing the passing of a fine restaurant. A part of my life had come tumbling down, turning to dust before my very eyes. As if my best friend had moved away, I felt lost and discombobulated as I faced a dubious future. A foreboding shadow covered my otherwise sunny disposition. Unexpectedly, it seemed as if the only certainty in life was uncertainty. Me and my Shadows were lost.

With an intrepid but heavy heart I ventured to Mike & C's. A seven-mile trek morphed into an endless journey though a surreal and homogeneously monotonous landscape that obscured the reality of what was transpiring in my mind.

It was early on a Saturday and apparently I was the first customer. The ardently glowing lights cast a harshly sterile brightness in stark contrast to the subdued ambience of Shadows. Numerous televisions silently broadcasted the sagas of unknown lives, the manufactured excitement of music videos and of sport heroes only good old boys could love.

A friendly hostess with a sincere smile escorted me to a booth, handed me a menu, and took my drink order. Glancing over the menu I noticed pancakes were only offered in combination with bacon and eggs. They say change is inevitable and usually for the better, but I just wanted a couple of pancakes and some decent hash-browns.

Somewhat sheepishly and tentatively I asked if I could order two pancakes sans bacon and eggs. With hushed whispers and fleeting glances in my direction she and the putative owner cooked up a plan. She happily informed me that my request would be fulfilled and took the remainder of my order for a serving of hash-browns.

Her infectious smile momentarily faded into a look of concern as she presented me with the handiwork of the cook. It was obvious to her that I was a bit disappointed in the diminutive size of the items she placed before me. She asked if all was OK.

Like a disappointed speechless child at Christmas, I mumbled incoherently, halfheartedly accepting her offerings.

The pancakes were good but lacked the taste and texture of what once was served at Shadows. The plate of hash-browns was also small, smaller than the half-size order that was customarily served at Shadows. The flavor was comparable to those served at the ubiquitous chain of restaurants juxtaposed to virtually every interchange along interstate highways that, like the stripes on the Confederate battle flag, crisscross the South.

The one I assumed to be the owner, with a somewhat saccharine smile, greeted me and inquired of the book I was reading. I conveyed to him the title and how I just began to read the book. I guess because of the tome's esoteric topic he just nodded and moved on.

I finished my breakfast and noted as the hostess presented the bill that some of the patrons I occasionally encountered at Shadows were making their way to a booth across the room. They were talking amiably amongst themselves so I assumed the loss of Shadows was not as disturbing for them as it was for me.

I paid my bill, which was almost twice the amount I would have paid at Shadows, and left my always generous tip on the table. (My lovely wife was once a waitress; how could I not do so?) I thanked the hostess for her attentiveness and made my way out of the restaurant.

For a fleeting moment I noted a slight emptiness in my belly and wondered if it was due to the small breakfast I just consumed or to a visceral loss I felt for what now was just a mere shadow of my past life.

Robert Desprez

Peachtree City