In my dream... ...Im in a town Ive never visited, helping a friend whom I dont know who owns a failing diner Ive never seen before with a Gordon Ramsey-style intervention - with a consultant who isnt Gordon Ramsay. I follow along on the walk through. The diner is a wreck of an old hole-in-the-wall, with aluminum-legged dining furniture out of the 50s, chipped formica countertops with tacked-on aluminum molding, and large ceiling tiles (some missing, some broken with sections dangling). There is no storage space, so all of the supplies are on the back wall, on shelving that looks like a non-handymans do-it-yourself garage storage. The consultant is noting with disgust the condition of the linoleum floor - stained and torn - and observing that the 1970s cash register is not very attractive. At the counter, he looks over into the cooking line and sees the stove is not a commercial stove, but an electric home-model from the 70s, in that sickly enameled avocado color. The owner-chef is showing off a bit: finishing a corned beef hash, he slings the stuff onto a plate very deftly and spins around, sliding the plate a few feet down the counter to stop in front of the consultant. The consultant takes a fork from the big rubber bin on the counter and picks through the hash, announcing that it looks like a baby has become ill after having its lunch. He scoops up a forkful of the hash and gives it a try. The potatoes are dreadful - are they canned? - the corned beef is slimy, and the onions are raw.... and what is this? He reaches into the plate and pulls out a large wilted salad onion, that clearly shouldnt be in there. Thats a salad onion, and you took it out of your sleeve, the owner says. I saw you do it. The consultant sniffs indignantly and the everything changes. Its the grand reopening for the diner. Im inside, at a table with another friend whom I dont know. Outside we can hear the owner giving his staff a pep talk. The door opens and Morgan Freeman walks in, only its not Morgan Freeman. I recognize him as a fellow organist, and am happy to see him. He carries one of those portable plastic chord organs from the 60s, and is very excited about it. He plops down at the table behind me, plugs the instrument in and switches it on. Have you ever seen one of these? I found it at a yard sale. Its amazing! Im skeptical. Its a chord organ, with three octaves of 1/2 sized keys, and a set of buttons - basically, its an accordion with a blower instead of bellows. While hes getting ready to play, I look around the diner - nothing has changed. The floor is still nasty, the storage is still shoddily built and inartfully arrayed, the counters and furniture are all the same. The rubber tray for silverware is gone; in its place is a plastic grocery bag, in which I can see plastic picnic flatware. Under the counter are massive red and yellow cans of boiled potatoes. Theyre so big, I wonder how anyone could carry one, and I observe to the friend whom I dont know that I cant imagine anyone putting a can that size on the counter to use the can-opener. Morgan-Freeman-who-isnt. begins to play, and what I hear is incongruous with what I see. It sounds like a digital keyboard on Cathedral Organ sound - not entirely organ-like but definitely different than the accordion sound I was expecting. I pivot in my chair to examine the instrument more closely. Its not made of plastic anymore, but of a dark and luxurious mahogany, with elegantly carved trim. I get up and walk around to see the keyboard. The keys, while still tiny, are of made of wood, and the music rack is wrought iron. I look around the back and see jacks for MIDI In and MIDI Out. When did that happen? I ask. When you werent looking, replies Morgan-Freeman-who-isnt, in a very Morgan Freeman sort of way. ..and I wake up.
Posted on: Mon, 19 Jan 2015 10:44:20 +0000
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