Lunch Impossible

We get a lot of suggestions from customers around here, a lot of them really good ideas. Heck, if it wasn't for Michael Anderson, we wouldn't have Open Mic Night, killer espresso or butter pecan milkshakes or Reuben sandwiches on the menu every day. (Though Mike is sort of an unofficial member of our staff -- I wouldn't know how to properly steam milk or brew an espresso shot if it weren't for him.)

However, we most often receive suggestions (sometimes, outright demands) for a particular food not currently on the menu  People are incredulous when, after submitting their request, we don't hop right on it. Truly, if we could, we'd honor everyone's cravings -- it's what we're about, after all.

The sad fact is that, not only is our "kitchen" very tiny, we really don't have anything like a stove back there. All we have is a hot plate and a panini grill. Oh, and our soup server, which is more a containment unit than something you cook on.

That's it: a three-sandwich grill and the thing your parents sent with you to college to boil up a pot of Ramen noodles. Whenever we add another appliance, the breaker kicks off. We've tried countless combinations and locations, adding countless steps to every operation. I've finished off scrambled eggs, calling out to Chuck every time the breaker kicked off so he could flip it back on. We've toasted bread in the seating area.

Believe me -- we have tried it all.

For instance, there was a brief period where we offered omelets to order. When our breakfast service consisted of one or two tables, this was no problem. But as we began to get busy, a table full of customers all ordering omelets could derail an entire morning resulting in dissatisfied customers and making the kitchen staff cross and surly for the rest of the day (meaning...me). Omelets have been taken off the menu.

Kitchen size is also the reason we don't offer breakfast items all day long, except on weekends.  There is just no room to set up to do French toast and still be able to claim counter space to roll a chicken Caesar wrap. It's something we work around on weekends, since we sell more breakfasts on weekends. But it's very stressful and I can't tell you how many times I burn myself on something because everything is so close together.

It's actually rather puzzling. A customer will study our menu for several minutes, look up and ask for something like fried potatoes. There are no fried potatoes* on our menu and there is absolutely no indication that we have potatoes anywhere on the premises. Why would I cook something and not put it on the menu? I have to wonder what they're thinking: "Maybe, if I say the secret word, she'll let me have her secret stash of food from the back room." There is none. Nor are there pancakes or grits or waffles or oatmeal; and there is definitely no puddin' meat (I believe other cultures call this "pan haus or something).

Of course, some things we don't have on the menu simply because not many people order it. Not only would carrying it be a waste of money, but also a waste of good food -- check out the dumpsters of chain restaurants required to carry the franchise's full menu, regardless of whether their customers eat it or not. Fortunately, we learned our lesson about this inexpensively when we stocked an item because one customer asked for it (Miracle Whip, to be exact). We ended up throwing most of it out (please spare me the mayo vs. Miracle Whip wars).

Then there is the problem of venting. We have a tiny ventless fan that we use when we fry bacon or sausage, and that stretches the limits of what we should be doing without a full vent system. A deep fryer and a regular grill are out of the question.

We keep telling ourselves that, if we endure cooking under these primitive conditions, just think how good it will feel if we ever get a full professional kitchen. Then we can look back on these days and laugh at how silly we all looked back in our little cooking nook, hopping from appliance to appliance, climbing over each other and blowing fuses every five minutes.

Yeah. We'll laugh; one of those crazy laughs; those crazy...maniacal...psychotic sort of...um...laughs...

You say "to-may-to," I say "to-mah-to"

Courthouse Corner Cafe Cold Plate

Let's talk about tomatoes for a minute.

Naturally, being raised in an Italian family, tomatoes were a mainstay of my diet. As an adult I would no more have a kitchen without at least five cans of tomatoes in my pantry than I'd make marinara sauce from a powdered packet. But the summer was the time my entire family went crazy for tomatoes, fresh-picked from our backyard garden.

Everyone but me, that is. Oh, I would admit that the summer crop of tomatoes tasted infinitely better than the balls of tasteless vegetable matter the supermarkets insisted on calling tomatoes. But I was ambivalent about raw tomatoes and only a little more impressed with them in a salad or layered with mozzarella cheese and fresh basil.

One year recently we decided to find out what all the fuss was about what were being called "heirloom tomatoes." Heirlooms were old varieties that had been "improved" upon by botanists to make them hardier or earlier or more disease-resistant or whatever property of the tomato annoyed the home gardener back in the day.

But all that convenience comes at a price and the price the tomato paid was in flavor -- which I thought was kind of the whole point they even exist.

Some kind souls (with amazing foresight) saved those seeds and these days those olden-day varieties are widely available to gardeners and, if you are lucky, people who know those gardeners.

Heirlooms made a raw tomato lover out of me.

The old school-days know-it -all loved to make a big deal over the fact that tomatoes are not vegetables, but are actually a berry. Heirlooms are sweet and fruity and the only similarity between them and their supermarket cousins is how they're spelled.

So I was delighted when Chuck came back from the Romney Farmers' Market with a bag of heirloom tomatoes, enough that I could put them on our cold platter along with some potato salad made with locally grown red and white potatoes and our usual chicken salad.

Okay. Yeah, yeah...I'm really happy that I can offer heirloom tomatoes and locally-grown potatoes to my customers. But I'm even happier to slip a few of those tomatoes in a bag to take home with me.

Oh! And thanks to our customer Tom Linger who waited patiently for his lunch while I took pictures!

So, isn't this just another commercial?

A blog centering around a business is not something I ever thought I'd be writing, mostly because it is precisely the type of blog I avoid reading. After all, who needs another commercial coming at you in the guise of something else? There is quite enough of that on public television.

So I'll make no bones about it: I have a business that I'd like people to come to, that business is the Courthouse Corner Cafe in Romney, WV, and this blog is about that business.

However, I will try to keep the commercialism at a minimum and focus more on the reasons I felt the need to attach blog-writing to my lengthy to-do list (every small-business owner has one of these, each item requiring a different skill set). So if you're looking for the day's specials or for the Open Mic Night schedule, you should subscribe to our Facebook page (link at right). I may or may not mention such things here, but the daily promotional stuff is not the reason for this blog.

The reasons? First of all is my passion for food and sharing that passion with others. Another is the (unexpected) delight I've discovered with the people that populate our little cafe, both employees and customers.

Oh...and the fact is I love writing. I was, in another life, a writer. But this is not a very marketable skill these days, what with newspapers tumbling all around and publishing houses blowing their budgets on sure things like Mr. King and Ms. Rowling; and also with the fact that no industry is particularly interested in hiring women over 50.

No matter. I cook. I eat. I love to cook for others and love when what I cook pleases.

And, yes.

I love when people come to my cafe...

...and so does my landlord.