Larry Gary
Professor Graham
Engl 1101 TR 5:00-6:15
7 February 2013
My Favorite Restaurant

As a child, I wasn’t fond of eating out. During the early 1960s, where racial segregation was still
Prevalent in the south and spending time in public places presented a high challenge for African-
Americans. Severely hampered by socioeconomic barriers, our choices for leisure, recreation, and entertainment was limited, particularly in restaurants. Every time we went anywhere, something would happen to illustrate the fact that we were not welcomed, but for a little place called Helen’s 2 Spot. I loved the place and this made my parents love it too. The place seemed so magical and fascinating to me then, when I was still an elementary school kid, and surprisingly, the place still very much fascinates me today. Just recently, when I went back to my hometown of Florence, S.C. for Thanksgiving, I was surprised to find out that the place still operated, and in fact, was run by the same family. Apart from the house in which I grew up, Helen’s 2 Spot is probably the dearest little place to me in town. What is so special about this place? It’s hard to answer in just a few words.

First of all, Helen’s, as we all like to call it, is a small cozy house in the outskirts, with not one indication, even a sign, that would tell you from its outer appearance that would tell you that it is a restaurant. This is what probably earned my love in the first place; this and the people who worked, and still worked there of course. Unlike the bigger restaurants, dinners, and buffet chains that my parents also took me to, Helen’s was a family-owned business run by a middle-aged couple, Helen and Jack. When I think of them now, I still remember their warm smiles and sincere care for everyone around them. Miss Helen, as I would call her, loved Orange shades, both in her outfits and in the restaurant’s interior decorations. Warm orange and yellow-pomegranate furniture, sunny-colored napkins and curtains, country-style hard wooden table and stools at the bar. Everything was solid and comfortable about the place. Miss Helen would always have on something orange to match the restaurant, as then I thought. Be it a bright orange ribbon in her hair, or a peachy neat cotton dress, or creamy red nail polish, this woman always belonged to the place like nobody else, and I doubt it was only an external resemblance.

Her husband, Mr. Jack, was older, with greying hair and a little moustache, which made him look a little strict to me at the time. But the moment he started talking, his deep, soft half-laughing voice, with that tender frog-in-the-throat vibes, he would make me listen to every word with my mouth open. The man was like a magician to me: mysterious and a little scary even, yet so fascinating and magnetic. And of course there was his daughter, Jessica, then a 7 or 8 year-old. She was a blonde pony-tailed girl with cute bangs, very lovely and active. She would be running around the place, attracting the attention of visitors with her resonant laughter that made you laugh in return, at lease smile back at the little sunny creature running around the place.

When I visited Helen’s after all these years, the memories flashed back through my mind in a heartbeat, and I suddenly felt like a child again. The place was still a planet of orange and light, very bright, yet relaxing and pulsating with fresh energy. It instantly felt like home. A big bouquet of fresh cut wild daisies, neatly tied with an orange ribbon, made me think of Miss Helen. Most surprisingly of all, the food tasted exactly the same. Crispy and puffy home-made cornbread was my favorite part of the meal then, and it tasted like it did in my childhood to me now. My mother still eats at Helen’s from time to time, (though my father has since passed away, as well as Miss Helen and Mr. Jack) still ordering her favorite specials and enjoying the evening with Jessica and her family, remembering the good times.