Darkened Dining

The other night our friends Debbie and Matt invited my wife and me to meet them for dinner at a cozy, little restaurant. It was cozy in the sense that it was small and far removed from civilization, much like some of my relatives.

Cozy is just one of those terms that people like to use when talking about restaurants, much like “intimate,” “quaint,” and “under investigation.” Often I also hear people describe some restaurants as rustic, which usually means that you shouldn’t go there unarmed. Cute descriptions like these have become part of the dining vocabulary. As a result, some restaurant reviews are like poetry in that they are very beautiful to read and are only understood by people who have been smoking banned substances for at least six hours.

We had an idea just how cozy this restaurant would be based on the directions we were given, which included lines like “turn left at the bridge” and “it’s down by the river.” These aren’t the kind of directions that you would expect for a restaurant. These are the kind of directions you would expect for the location of an abandoned Chevy.

After looking at those instructions, I also worried that maybe our friends had accidentally given us the transcription to a country song. It just seemed like there was a good possibility that the next step would be something like “make a U-turn where you broke my heart.” Although maybe some country songs were written to serve as directions. After all, I’ve heard more than a couple of tunes that sounded like a description of the highway system in Kentucky.

The restaurant, as it turned out, was not only located in a remote area, but a dark remote area, the kind of area that people go to for star gazing or to dump a body. It’s also the kind of setting that people refer to in the restaurant business as “intimate.” When a restaurant or the area around a restaurant is described as intimate, it means that it’s dark enough that you’ll think you’ve gone blind.

As it turned out, the restaurant was hidden behind a small convenience store, one that appeared to offer everything from cigarettes to bait. I think it is available for children’s birthday parties. They apparently get crowds regularly because they had at least four parking spots. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before they offer people tram service back to their vehicles.

Of course, you could also park in the nearby dirt area, but that didn’t have any lights or markings. Thus you ran the risk of accidentally driving down an embankment into the river. And although there are a lot of great automotive warranties out there, few tend to cover things like “fish in the exhaust pipe.”

The restaurant owners didn’t really advertise their location, though. Most restaurants, even those in areas with lighting, have signs out front big enough to give shade to three counties. This one just had a small sign stuck to the wall of the convenience store with an arrow directing people to go around back. It was right above a sign for the public restrooms, which coincidentally had an arrow pointing in the same direction. I guess the restaurant owners figured that was a good way to cash in on the heavy latrine traffic. After all, out in that area it’s not hard to believe that something that flushes is considered a tourist attraction.

After all our searching, it turned out that the restaurant was closed for the next two months. Since my wife and I got there first, we waited in our car for our friends to show up. If nothing else, it gave us time to appreciate the cozy, intimate atmosphere of the area. I locked the doors.

Comments

[Megan Webber]

Just behind the convenience store, restaurant and public restroom is where Chris and I live in La Honda.

M :)