We stopped for lunch at a cafe, The Northman or maybe it was The Disappointed Appetite, I forget which. When we walked in the door, every head in the place snapped around to check out the strangers. Gave us an up and down, a derisive snort and went back to eating. The place wasn't big and wasn't all that pretty. Had a used look to it. But was clean and the tables didn't wobble much on the cracked linoleum. Sun streamed through the window and lit up three of the five calendars on the walls. All but one had an outdoors scene on it. Big fish exploding out of a lake, Mounties on horseback and elk in snow-capped mountains. The other was an ad for a bail bondsman. The curtains on the windows were the white lace kind slowly bleeding tar and nicotine yellow. We squeaked out our chairs and sat down.
The twin waitresses bustling about looked like they'd been there since the construction crew had built the restaurant around them during the days leading up to World War I while the ladies, probably around forty at that time, stood waiting with pencil and pad in hand. Menus were simple plastic binders with a couple of mimeographed pages between. Breakfast and lunch only but you could get breakfast all day long.
Our waitress didn't even ask. Simply turned over Uncle Emil's cup and filled it with coffee followed by a "what'll you have boys?" Emil went for the Trapper's Surprise breakfast in hopes there was something alongside his eggs over easy that'd once felt steel jaws or at least a bullet. Me, I had the burger, fries and a coke.
That settled she turned to me, "Did you want the gravy over it all or just a bowlful on the side?"
Can't say I'd ever been asked that question before. Or since. My simple, "No gravy for me ma'am," set her penciled-in eyebrows all aquiver.
"You sure? You might want to think that over young man."
I was petty sure I wanted no gravy. What for? But her raised eyebrow had me wondering if I was making a big mistake.
"Yes ma'am. I'm sure. No gravy for me, thank you."
Her pencil was returned to its proper place above her right ear and stuffed into her updo along with two pens and a yard stick. She snapped around on the gray linoleum floor and shuffled off toward the stainless steel kitchen counter.
"You've never eaten in small town Canada before have you Archie me lad? Up here, gravy is not only a cultural necessity but also comes in handy for other reasons as you will soon discover." With that Emil rose and began to work the tables.
Once again I felt embarrassed for him, mostly for me actually, when he did things like that. Going up to total strangers and asking them how the food was. Then I saw what he was really up to. A few sentences in, with a laugh or two along the way, the conversation always turned toward fishing, ice-out, weather and bugs. Nearly all of the men up in Northwest Manitoba wet a line now and then. Spend some time nearly every day in the local outdoors. We hadn't. Simple enough. All he was doing was getting the lay of the land out on the water. And the locals had no problem filling him in.
Emil figured people were people wherever he went. And few would withhold information from a fellow fisherman even if he wasn't a local boy. By the time our meals arrived he'd learned all he felt was needed.
Lunch was, hmmm, a little different than what I'd expected. When I asked for ketchup our waitress gave me a look that said I'd done something disgusting. Maybe even sinful.
"Ketchup? What for, eh?"
"For my fries ma'am."
"Ketchup on fries? That's a new one on me. That's what the vinegar on the table is for young man."
And that was a new one on me. Gave it a moment's thought and decided I'd eat 'em the way the good Lord intended, saturated in molten lard and fried to a snap. Maybe the vinegar was intended to cut through the grease? Kinda like drain-o for the digestive tract.
The burger was more of the same. Oak board patty, pickle, mustard and onions on a few days old, toasted bun. To me a burger wasn't a burger unless it had something red on it. Maybe the tomato hadn't made it this far north yet? Snapped off my first bite with my molars. Figured my front teeth weren't sturdy enough for the job and might give before the patty broke apart.
"Archie me lad, you figured out what the gravy is for yet?"
Uncle Emil paused while my head slowly rose from my task. I nodded no.
"Up here they usually put it on both the fries and patty for a couple of minutes before they set to chowing it down. Softens the fibers so it's possible to eat the stuff. Problem is it doesn't smell good to me as it passes my nose, smells worse come morning. That's why I ordered breakfast."
"It's kind of a chicken and egg thing. Don't know which came first. The gravy to soften up the food or frying the food to a crisp so the gravy didn't make it too mushy. Oh well, your stomach is still young. Could probably digest concrete. Can't say for sure if it'll make a dent in a Canadian burger though."
That settled she turned to me, "Did you want the gravy over it all or just a bowlful on the side?"
Can't say I'd ever been asked that question before. Or since. My simple, "No gravy for me ma'am," set her penciled-in eyebrows all aquiver.
"You sure? You might want to think that over young man."
I was petty sure I wanted no gravy. What for? But her raised eyebrow had me wondering if I was making a big mistake.
"Yes ma'am. I'm sure. No gravy for me, thank you."
Her pencil was returned to its proper place above her right ear and stuffed into her updo along with two pens and a yard stick. She snapped around on the gray linoleum floor and shuffled off toward the stainless steel kitchen counter.
"You've never eaten in small town Canada before have you Archie me lad? Up here, gravy is not only a cultural necessity but also comes in handy for other reasons as you will soon discover." With that Emil rose and began to work the tables.
Once again I felt embarrassed for him, mostly for me actually, when he did things like that. Going up to total strangers and asking them how the food was. Then I saw what he was really up to. A few sentences in, with a laugh or two along the way, the conversation always turned toward fishing, ice-out, weather and bugs. Nearly all of the men up in Northwest Manitoba wet a line now and then. Spend some time nearly every day in the local outdoors. We hadn't. Simple enough. All he was doing was getting the lay of the land out on the water. And the locals had no problem filling him in.
Emil figured people were people wherever he went. And few would withhold information from a fellow fisherman even if he wasn't a local boy. By the time our meals arrived he'd learned all he felt was needed.
Lunch was, hmmm, a little different than what I'd expected. When I asked for ketchup our waitress gave me a look that said I'd done something disgusting. Maybe even sinful.
"Ketchup? What for, eh?"
"For my fries ma'am."
"Ketchup on fries? That's a new one on me. That's what the vinegar on the table is for young man."
And that was a new one on me. Gave it a moment's thought and decided I'd eat 'em the way the good Lord intended, saturated in molten lard and fried to a snap. Maybe the vinegar was intended to cut through the grease? Kinda like drain-o for the digestive tract.
The burger was more of the same. Oak board patty, pickle, mustard and onions on a few days old, toasted bun. To me a burger wasn't a burger unless it had something red on it. Maybe the tomato hadn't made it this far north yet? Snapped off my first bite with my molars. Figured my front teeth weren't sturdy enough for the job and might give before the patty broke apart.
"Archie me lad, you figured out what the gravy is for yet?"
Uncle Emil paused while my head slowly rose from my task. I nodded no.
"Up here they usually put it on both the fries and patty for a couple of minutes before they set to chowing it down. Softens the fibers so it's possible to eat the stuff. Problem is it doesn't smell good to me as it passes my nose, smells worse come morning. That's why I ordered breakfast."
"It's kind of a chicken and egg thing. Don't know which came first. The gravy to soften up the food or frying the food to a crisp so the gravy didn't make it too mushy. Oh well, your stomach is still young. Could probably digest concrete. Can't say for sure if it'll make a dent in a Canadian burger though."
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