The Ghost of Diners Past

I do my best as a fellow gastronome to seek out spaces where dining extends merely beyond the natural act of eating and into the realm of experience. Certainly, good food is important, especially when you’re paying for it. However, what has equal merit, at least in the eyes of this diner, is the adventure that comes with finding new places that make life, in its usual boorish routine, a little more livable.

Jimmy’s Lunch was the most visceral dining experience I had in a long time, and I say that with conviction, dear readers. Heed my words, for the faded marquee letters on an outdated (justifiably antiquated) and rundown Pepsi sign flagging whatever passers-by to the existence of Jimmy’s Lunch give presence to an even more poignant message that Jimmy’s Lunch certainly won’t be around forever. I’m glad I found it when I did, having passed by that long strip of road multiple times and turning a blind eye with naïve food snobbery. Indeed, those were darker days. Days when I myself was a less humble eater, unaware of what ghosts gave up in terms of good eating. Luckily, the morning I was driving on my way to buying a good bunch of kumquats I had a hankering for pancakes, and Jimmy’s Lunch just happened to meet the corner of my eye.

Speaking of naivete, I approached Jimmy’s Lunch with the fantasy that beyond its glass door there’d be a quaint, clean diner upheld by some code of puissant eaters who knew food and service, and who put waitresses in cute knee high dresses and doily aprons. What I saw first however, was a bar and stools and a cash register and a grill behind it. What I saw when I adjusted myself and took a seat on a torn stool with fabric held together by tape was a humble place for eating, sharing its space with a maze of dividing walls leading into what seemed like small offices and rooms where one could eat, bet on a horse named Luigi Banzino or have access to a scantly stocked fridge. That said, considering the character of Jimmy’s Lunch, it’d seem unfair to hold it up to the same standards that other other eateries are held up to today. From what I’ve been told, it’s been around for a long while, just shy of 1949; so, it’s fair to say that Jimmy’s Lunch certainly holds its own and shouldn’t be judged by its shabby appearance alone, because there is certainly something more there. Perhaps the character of the regulars, whom I can only assume are slowly fading into the ether; perhaps the stern, yet calm politeness the man behind the counter, in simple jeans, T-shirt and apron gives when he offers coffee in a mumble. It certainly isn’t a place that mirrors the quaint diners in popular culture. However, it wasn’t so dark that it mimicked those cold, awkward places we see on television and know as truck stops. Maybe, in my limited experience of eating in these sorts of spaces Jimmy’s Lunch is what a diner really should look like. An attestation to what diners used to be. A space where beyond its torn blue booths, chipped checkered floor and curling plastic, mock wood trims, some old cooking masters of yesteryear and milkshakes take arms against a sea of food troubles, where modernity has led to diners being nothing more than restaurant chains. If there is anything to say about Jimmy’s Lunch it certainly is that it is rare, and for the most part, slowly fading out of existence lest I, my dear readers, convince you to go and dine there.

Mindful of the vibrations under my stool, caused no doubt from a combination of electricity and traffic passing by in the outside world, I read the menu earnestly. Amongst Jimmy’s emerald green walls, its metallic, diamond patterned back-splashes and wood paneled archways, I made note of the newspaper clippings, old wedding photos and celebrity posters dotting the walls, as well as the old novelty placards of cartoon characters stating the menu options in captive word bubbles. There were the obvious clichéd elements of diners one popularly sees elsewhere today, overshadowed by the clientele of blue collars. Still, something in the place told me it was invaluable if only for its history, so much so that I dared not take a picture with my camera for fear of encroaching on the comfort taken by the men who sat quietly in their own seats deep in whatever business or small talk they immersed themselves in. If there’s an urge to find out what it looks like, you’ll just have to go yourself, dear reader.

My commitment to a stack of pancakes was met with dismay by the cook who told me it was a bad idea, claiming that they only ever turn out black. Thus, having never personally mastered the art of making decent French toast I asked for a stack with some sausages, conveniently the most expensive thing on the menu, but very far from breaking the bank. A humble 6.95. Toast was the cheapest option at 2.25, and if you’re getting technical: jam, a mere .15 cents. Breakfast isn’t your only option either; Jimmy’s is open daily from 6 a.m. to 1 p.m. (except Sundays) so lunch is obviously a choice either in the form of hamburger, fries or grilled sandwich (and eggs and bacon, of course). And I’d be hard pressed for words to not at least mention that they did of course offer milkshakes at 2.75 a glass.

I waited patiently for my meal having the feeling I didn’t have much of a choice. The place wasn’t busy, but intuition told me that even if it was, the lone cook at the grill still would have taken his time making my meal and making small talk with the regulars, so regular I might add that they got their own coffee from behind the counter as well as condiments, usually after giving the cook a good pat on the back.

Jimmy’s Lunch certainly has a community, and it seems its success comes from its openness between cook and customer, unlike the staunch service one expects to see in the usual restaurant environment where the motivation for friendliness is a good tip. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it, but it seemed Jimmy’s no longer needed the dynamic.

I’d be lying if I said my meal was out of this world. Considering the circumstance however, it did hit the spot. With four stacked pieces of French Toast, four breakfast sausages and a quartered piece of tomato, I like to assume to balance the saltiness of the meat (probably not planned), I met my meal with a great deal of elation. I was given a large slab of butter on a separate plate on the side and the communal syrup bottle no doubt touched by hundreds of hands before me. Flavours were familiar, my French toast embodied the sweet cinnamon character of so many before it. Each piece however had an amazing amount of body, not pressed at all in the process of their creation, which enabled them to soak up appreciated amounts of butter and syrup, and which certainly would explain my full stomach by the end of the meal.

But what made my meal so enjoyable was its familiarity, those feelings of nostalgia registered by the flavours I had tasted so many times in happy breakfasts before. What more can one expect when eating something so every day in a place as modest as Jimmy’s Lunch? The food wasn’t bad, and its ability to fill my ever expanding stomach impressive. My only regret was that I was too full to try a milkshake, or anything else, especially with such low prices. I can only hope that you will do it for me, and in the process tell me what familiar memories the flavours of Jimmy’s Lunch stir up for you. I can only imagine.

Coffee: 1.25

French Toast & Sausage: 6.95

Total (with tip): 11.27

Cash only

Jimmy’s Lunch

Open: Mon.- Sat. 6 am- 1pm; Sun. 7 am- 1pm.

(519) 743-4945

297 Victoria Street North Kitchener,

ON N2H 5E1 

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Hipster Sophistication

If you ever find yourself in a bind about where to eat, feel free to ask a stranger. Everyone likes to think they know what they're talking when it comes to eating, simply because everybody eats. But does everybody really EAT? I say this with conviction, dear readers. Does anyone ever really think about what they're tasting, or merely that what they're eating tastes good? More importantly, do people think about why they think a place is worth eating at? Atmosphere, taste, service, price. Aw, yes, the obvious things we think about when it comes to dining out; but what about what the things or places we choose to eat at mean for those who hear about us eating at them?

I’ve been to the Princess Café many a time. However, never to eat, only to drink insurmountable amounts of coffee and what I’ve discovered late in life, and much to my chagrin, to be Italian hot chocolate. Even my poor Calabrese mother never heard of the stuff. So while in a bind about where to eat after having been shooed out from another place because I had no cash on hand, I simply asked the first stranger I saw. They said, “I like Princess Café.” I responded, “I like turtles,” thanked them and went on my way. If I were to have any more fun, I’d have to sternly remind myself not be picky and go. To be honest, my frequency to the place left little to my own imagination, but if my experiences there were merely limited to coffee, hot chocolate, hilarious poetry slams and debates about whether the girl at the counter looked like Miley Cyrus or Kat Dennings, then I should at least give the food a try, even if only once.

I started my venture with a gander to the dessert fridge, ignoring the prices placed in front of the pastries like chocolate truffle cake, strudels and mini cheesecakes, knowing that if I looked at the cost first, I wouldn’t even bother. I did my best to get excited dear readers if only to assure myself that a substantially small piece of chocolate cake or mini cheese cake was worth the five dollars and twenty five cents; and yet, I could do no such thing. All is not lost though, because for those of you with an uncompromising sweet tooth, there are affordable goodies like two dollar cupcakes and strudels, and if you’re lucky, even more affordable sweets the next time around, the desserts having a rotating selection every now and then.

Having come to terms, I approached the counter, asked for a small cappuccino, and chose from what at first glance seemed like a limited menu of Panini sandwiches, pastas, soups and salads. A fair selection, considering that the place’s main identity comes in the guise of a café with specialty coffees, teas, and even rotating house wines and imported beers. A diamond in the rough, in this humble eater’s opinion. But what absolves the Princess Café’s apparently limited menu selection is the number of variations one can get from the Panini sandwiches they serve. The salad selection is acceptable and the soup is always changing.

Having been unsure of what was more filling, soup or salad, the server suggested, seemingly unexcited by my question, to try the vegan soup of the day. I figured hey, I’m somewhat socially responsible. I could go without meat for one meal. Forget that my deodorant probably had animal fat in it, or that the air filters used to clean the dust in my home most likely depended on the fine hairs of a cow’s carcass- at that moment in time, I was going meatless. With that, it was a resounding yes to said vegan soup- though I had no idea what “vegan” tasted like- and “the original vegetarian” Panini. A sandwich snuggly stuffed with roasted eggplant, red pepper, tomato, artichoke caponata (a fancy food buzzword for briny artichoke spread), pesto, basil (I dare not say fresh in the middle of February) and brie cheese (albeit a mild tasting one closer to that of mozzarella).

Thus, I took my cappuccino and found a seat. I’ve had many cappuccinos in this town, the majority from ubiquitous coffee chains, and the same goes for London Fogs, the cappuccino’s English cousin (Earl Grey with frothed milk), and if there is something worth noting about the Princess Café it’s that I’ve come to enjoy their London Fogs to a great degree. Quite frankly, they’re the best in town. The cappuccinos, however, can be hit or miss. The strong foam that stood on its own paired with what I would expect to be a strong, clean roasted espresso was unfortunately acrid and ashy, a symptom of an improperly cleaned machine. Alas, unfortunately for us as customers, some places’ dishes depend on the skill of each individual cook, not the leadership skills of the manager who would otherwise push to make sure that their staff all cooked consistently. So it goes, dear readers, so it goes. And it’s one thing when we depend on the foam, naturally sweetened in the frothing process, to sweeten our cappuccino, but it is certainly another when we depend on it to dilute the bitter flavor of what tastes like over-brewed coffee. Luckily, there was sugar nearby.

	'Gotta brush up on them camera skillz

Still waiting, I took in the scenery, an echelon of hipster sophistication: retro-posters placed in frames, stiff, white rococo chairs recycled from what may have been some twelve year old’s garden party, old tables, and paisley kerchiefs used in lieu of disposable napkins. I could appreciate the sentiment because it catered well to a young crowd enjoying a new trend of ironically consuming old and out of fashion things like coffee mugs from the 80s with terrible decals, and to the old who enjoyed coming in for a sense of nostalgia within its warm red and white walls.

It was then when my meal came and snapped me out of it; a humble array of soup and glorified sandwich, accompanied by a thin, quartered pickle. Now, my ancestors tell me a Panini should be hot coming off the press, lest, I suppose, there’s a good reason for it not being so. I can only assume that the Panini, being a hearty bread, needs such heat to soften it up for consumption. However, this was not the case with my sandwich. Conveniently, the local bread used for the dish was soft with a good amount of bite to it. Not too little to become soggy immediately with all the balsamic, briny ingredients in between, but not too hard to be tedious to eat. An overall good pairing with the vegetable ingredients, also being soft. I wonder however, what the bread would have been like with the cured meats that accompany other sandwiches. For 6.46 alone, I would have liked something a little larger. As for the ambiguous vegan soup, I could only guess what gave it its earthen flavor. I say earthen and not earthy here, my soup having the flavour of something edible, yet still in the ground. I did my best to ignore this one dynamic of flavor in lieu of the soup’s curried aroma, combined with its peppery taste, and strong nutmeg like overtones, all supported by that of what I assumed to be a base of either carrot or some kind of squash, giving it its orange colour. As an accompaniment to my Panini, the combo came to a resounding 8.10. Reasonable.

Finished, the café’s host, in a brief moment of time came, saw my empty plate, and conquered, taking it up and cleaning my place immediately. From there, I up and left, paying my dues and paying a good 14.25 (tip included), wondering who I could ask about where to eat next.

The Princess Café

519-886-0227

Mon-Sun 11:00 AM- 10:30 PM

46 King St. N. Waterloo

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