Country two-step
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
It's "one step backward, two steps forward," they say and we're all about to take two steps backward. Our favorite diner is closing in Tampa and what are we gonna do?
Butch's Diner has been our special haunt for more than 20 years of coming to the country. If Aunt Gertie didn't feel like cooking, we went to Butch's Diner. If family came to town from Colorado or California, we all headed to Butch's Diner. It was our custom. When my daughter arrives or we have guests, one of the "tourist spots" for them is lunch at Butch's Diner because they've heard us talk about it through the years. When we have our noses buried in the computer keys right up to 12 o'clock, we look at one another and say, "Wanna go to Butch's?" And now it's closing. We're sad.
We know all the reasons that small town restaurants close: it's hard to get supplies, it eats up all your time and resources, the hours are horrendous, you don't make money. And we're still sad. It's the end of an era, for us. We're losing a dear and familiar home that was right next door to eating at Grandma's table.
The food at Butch's always is tasty, home spun, delicious. There are other restaurants in our area that serve mashed potatoes and gravy, fried chicken, and cole slaw — but they aren't the same. Marvin has a professionalism, a way of arranging things on the plate with everything just so, that added to the flavor of the food.
When you come in for a cup of coffee at Butch's, Marvin remembers if you take regular or decaf, cream and sugar. He knows if you want an extra vegetable instead of the meat on the daily special and whether or not you take ice cream with your cherry pie. He caters to his clientele like a thoughtful wife, knowing their wishes for a meal before they can even think up the selection themselves.
There's something about the atmosphere in a small town restaurant, where everyone knows your name. My sister worked at Butch's for awhile when we first came here and she got to know the regulars. When Mom broke her leg, Jess headed to Oregon and that put an end to her waitress career. We used to chuckle about the Marketing Queen waiting tables, but I still envy her working knowledge when we go over to Butch's for lunch and she calls folk by name as they enter the door. "How do you know them?" I ask. "They used to come in when I worked here," she says under her breath.
On my desk top I have a list of ideas for Another Day in the Country. Last winter I wrote on the list, "write about Butch's being a safe haven
There's more lost than Maggie's pies and Marvin's attentiveness.
Butch's is a landmark. It stands for all things good in country life: celebration, warmth, familiarity, nurturing, friends, and family all wrapped up in tender roast beef that melts in your mouth.
On a Sunday, Uncle Hank and Aunt Gertie used to pick us up and head for Butch's at 11 in the morning, "Before the church crowd landed." We'd find a table and prepare ourselves to meet our assembled relatives and friends. "I've met more relatives here today than I've seen in months," said my 88-year-old mom when she last visited Butch's with her sister Frieda from Wichita. "We had so much fun."
Well, Maggie and Marvin, you already know we're so thankful for you and that we think the food is delicious — we tell you that almost every time we walk through the door. What we haven't said is what a hole you will leave in another day in the country when you're no longer just seven miles away in Tampa. Bon Voyage!
