It’s kind of like breezing by Baked at Frankie’s on a summer morning. Frank and Donna Van Veghel are sitting on a bench out front taking a break, sharing a coffee and the day’s news. Or, it’s like arriving at The Tin Mill when Don Andrews is there at the door greeting his guests. My wife, my sister and I were travelling back from the U.S. through Pennsylvania last weekend. North of Harrisburg we stopped for breakfast at a roadside restaurant called Angie’s Diner.
“Is there really an Angie?” I asked the waitress.
“Sure is,” she said. “She’s the owner’s wife and she’s here twice a day, everyday.”
Nothing instills more confidence in a potential customer than knowing that the proprietor is present and part of the atmosphere while you find a table, choose a meal and enjoy the experience. More than that, however, in the case of Angie’s Diner, sitting down to breakfast was almost like stepping into a time machine going back half a century. It looked and felt like 1955. The dining area consisted of booths, chrome-trimmed table sets and about a dozen permanently installed, rotating stools at a long counter in front of the kitchen entrance.
Décor was simple – low-hanging lamps, an old radio with an antenna (assisted by a crinkled piece of tin foil), pictures of area landmarks and posters showing vintage cars (all with those characteristic 1950s rear fins, of course).
“What can I get for y’all?” the pleasant waitress asked, between chomps on her chewing gum.
The laminated menu contained every manner of hearty breakfast – eggs of any style, French toast and hot cakes (not pancakes), sausage gravy (Americans love gravy on everything) and the usual special feature in U.S. diners – a stack of “Canadian” back bacon. But we generally agreed what made the dining experience at Angie’s unique was the paper placemat placed in front of each customer. It offered business card-sized advertisements from local retailers and, for us, a meal’s worth of entertainment.
Shady Brook Campground’s ad said: “pay for 6 nights and get the 7th for free.” Route 35 Barrel offered every kind of container imaginable, including burn barrels, fuel barrels, rain barrels and even whiskey barrels. With it “29 years of experience,” Riverside Picture Framing said it had “carpetbagger collectibles” whatever they are. An ad for Pyle’s Garage Doors warned that its prices – most doors cost $229 – were subject to change. And Belmont Insurance offered estimates from its friendly staff, including Susan who had no surname, but was nicknamed “the boss.”
By coincidence, our trip to the States was expressly to pay tribute to my 95-year-old Uncle Angelo Nopulos. While he was truly a man tempered by the Depression – he’d worked variously as a welder, a driver, a salesman, a bookkeeper and even a bouncer – for most of his working career, Uncle Angelo had run a restaurant in Baltimore, Maryland, called the Double T Diner. Named after its two original Greek owners – Thomas and Tony – the Double T had really come into its own in the 1950s when owned an operated by my uncle and his brother.
From the beginning it promised the best for breakfast, salads, sandwiches, crab cakes, pastas and Greek specialties. It ran 364 days a year (only closed Christmas Day). And, not surprisingly, Angelo virtually lived there. He greeted guests, provided free coffee to all police officers, organized staff schedules, handled the bookkeeping and during peak periods ran the kitchen by cooking the specialties himself and calling out orders personally. He’s long since sold the diner and retired, but Angelo’s motto remained the same:
“You gotta do what you gotta do,” he always said.
What Uncle Angelo (and his wife Virginia, who hostessed most days in the front of the diner) understood was that a restaurant is just as much about personal touch as it is about good food. The Double T prided itself in both. Because the diner ran 24/7, its success (i.e. repeat business) depended upon the good taste left in people’s mouths literally and figuratively. Angelo and Virginia instilled that in everyone – even their 16-year-old Canadian nephew who worked as a Double T busboy in the summer of 1965.
That summer holiday I learned about ornery customers’ kids, spilled ketchup and mustard, neurotic waitresses and smiling no matter what. And I truly learned from the master – Angelo – what was meant by customer service.
“You’ve got to be there to deliver it,” he’d say.
We’re fortunate in Uxbridge to have plenty of family-run eateries where the owner/operators are most often on the premises. Just like Don Andrews and the Van Veghels, Nancy and Jim Byers always greet us at the Hobby Horse and the family is always present at B & L Country Kitchen when my hockey buddies and I visit at tournament time. Our restaurateurs’ personal touch makes eating out in Uxbridge more than just good food.