Another fine example of the Southern Diner was in Asheville, NC. The interior was an immaculate, bright, glossy light pea soup green, with natural wood wainscotting, small, narrow wood booths, chrome stools at the counter, mostly older hardware behind the counter, and a dry-erase board on the wall behind the counter listing the day's offerings. The food was straightforward: mac and cheese, cream corn, meatloaf, french fries, biscuits. Whole meals were served in molded plastic plates with built-in dividers, the gloss of the plastic long ago reduced to a dull matte finish. The plates reminded me of the old aluminum trays that came with Swanson's TV dinners. "Hungry Man!" What a treat those were...even if the food paled in comparison to my mother's own cooking.
Rotund men with short clipped hair, open-necked shirts and wide suspenders sat on the stools. Sharp small talk shot across the room, quick threads of gossip from a cook to a patron intersecting another patron's story told to the older lady with red hair who darted around behind the counter bisecting a third story lifted into the air by a diffident fat man, directed at no one in particular.
The back room was panelled in wood, from top to bottom, small ornaments and plaques adorning the walls. NASCAR featured heavily. A thin pall of smoke hung limply in the upper air. Groups of two or three sat at the small square tables, eating efficiently, talking slowly, a hand gesturing, a fork tracing a shape in the air.
Our meal was inexpensive, and a decent way to spend a small portion of the three hours it took for our rear brakes to get serviced at Shook's Service, two doors down.
Shook's was a good counterpart to Tastee. Neat and orderly, the men of this shop ran an efficient, clean operation. The mechanic who worked on our brakes spoke through a profound, dirty blonde moustache whose corners seemed to flick back and forth when he spoke. His speech was not always easy to understand. His accent was thicker than the black grease encasing his hands and his skin worn and dark. He inspired total confidence. It matters that a mechanic speak with confidence and authority. Especially when you're a thousand miles from home with many more miles to drive.
His diagnosis was precise and right and his repair exact. The rear brakes have worked flawlessly since then.
The other man--the manager I think--was very kind in advancing our little car ahead of a couple other vehicles that were awaiting service. He didn't have to do that. We didn't ask and weren't looking for any special accommodation, having already girded ourselves for the possibility of a night not a hundred miles from the last.
The price was just right too. A very fair $98 for what it was.
