I learned two things from my elementary school nurse. The first was that saltine crackers and a dark room can cure a headache, even when the headache in question is a fake headache that I’ve conjured up for attention. The second lesson I can’t really credit her for, because I gleaned it myself from a dusty poster of the food pyramid she had hanging on her cinder block wall. I’d recline on the vinyl bench letting saltines turn to sludge on my tongue, the food pyramid preaching that variety is the key to a healthy life — big trapezoids of apples and broccoli, and a tiny triangle at the top for muffins, with everything in moderation.
Since then, I’m pretty sure we’ve thrown out the food pyramid, and I say good riddance — not least because I’ve always believed that we should save pyramids for cheerleaders and Egypt, but because i’m of the mind that its call for a heterogenous diet is bogus. Variety is completely overrated. When it comes to food, I want the same thing over and over again. I want the low-risk, low-reward relief of ordering a meal I’ve had a hundred times before, the lack of risk a reward in itself. I want it at the same table, served by the same waiter, preferably with a spoon. I want “the usual.” The only problem is, I haven’t found it yet.
The issue is not that there’s nothing I’d conceivably consume on a daily basis. I’ve identified countless meals that I could eat into infinity — I once had a roasted eggplant so intensely delicious that made me say “fuck” in front of my grandmother for the first time in my life. The most essential part of having “the usual,” though, even more important than how it tastes, is having someone who knows what you mean when you ask for it. To walk into a restaurant, where the chef knows you like sauce on the side, the host knows your favorite booth, and “everybody knows your name.” To have “the usual,” you first have to become “a regular.”
Restaurant regulars, those people who frequent their favorite eateries with the same confidence I had when sauntering into the school nurse, hold the keys to contentment. As the final manifestation of my great passion for repetitive, almost punishing routine, and my insatiable hunger for both food and affection, becoming a restaurant regular is the pinnacle of success. To find something that makes you happy over and over again, make a commitment, and to devote yourself to an almost ritualistic regimen of the same meal, same place, good tips, until that thing loves you back — isn’t that what we’re all looking for, really? To love something so much it has to love you back?
But still, we have no definitive how-to guide for achieving this state. In the food pyramid of self-help literature, the clunky trapezoids at the bottom are reserved for the themes of finding the perfect partner and the perfect way to think, with the tiny triangle at the top saved for topics like “how to knit with dog hair.” Notably absent, though, is any instructional literature on the essential issue of finding the perfect restaurant.
So I'm taking matters into my own hands, with “On the Regular,” a series in which I talk to real-life people who have found the restaurants they want to spend the rest of their lives with, and get the juicy details on their story of gastronomic romance, from start to finish, bread basket to dessert.
On the Regular: Evy Edens of Wear Your Snacks
My first subject is coincidentally also one of my most favorite people in the world. The beautiful, talented Evy Edens is the founder of Wear Your Snacks, a jewelry and clothing brand with designs dedicated to all your favorite foods. She also happens to be an incredible chef and she’s promised to teach me how to roast a chicken.
The Spot:
Boca Grande, FL
The Eat Cute:
How did you find your restaurant soulmate? Did you meet through mutual friends? Hear about it by word of mouth? Walk in on a whim?
I didn’t really have any say in the matter — my family’s been going since I was a tot! It’s about an eighth of a mile from our house, so I’m sure convenience played no small part in the frequency of our visits. My little legs could only take me so far, you know.
The First Date:
Was it love at first sight? Did you know from your first meal that you’d found your spot? Or did it take some time to come to grips with your feelings? Was there a certain moment you knew you’d fallen in love?
When we first started going I kind of had to love it by sheer necessity, seeing as my parents often toted me there by backpack. When I got old enough to start sneaking in, though, my love for it changed. It went from being the place that I’d eat hot buttered noodles on my dad’s lap to being the spot I’d drink tequila with the kids..
Even if my parents hadn’t indoctrinated me from babyhood to love it though, I’m sure I would have come around to fall head over heels anyways. It has undeniable charms, and one of them is named Toyan, who works behind the bar. He knows everybody in town, he’s in on all the jokes, and he makes us our cocktails as soon as we walk in.
The Usual:
What’s the menu item you love the most? Do you ever go rogue and order something else? If you’re not ordering your usual, what are you having?
My usual’s definitely changed. When I was wearing pull-ups, I’d order buttered noodles and a shirley temple, with vanilla ice cream and a side of raspberry sauce for dessert. I’d never actually put the raspberry sauce on the ice cream because I thought it was gross, but I loved the idea of it.
Now, when we walk in, Toyan has our drinks ready at the bar — for my mom and me, a Mr. T’s Special (Casa Migos soda with lime) and a tumbler full of sauvignon blanc for my dad, who Toyan calls “Papa.” (I.e., “want to put these on Papa’s tab, Evy?”)
Occasionally a Spicy Elephant will jump into the mix, which is this killer jalapeno watermelon margarita. Or, if I’m toting a carton of Lactaid, I’ll get a Hummer. It’s basically a vanilla milkshake spiked with kahlua and rum. It’s world famous. No, it’s not, but it should be.
The Relationship:
Are you exclusive? Do you bring your friends to share in your love of this joint? Or do you just keep it to yourself? What occasions bring you in?
Oh, we’re always with people. But we’re never bringing them so much as we’re meeting them there. My mom and dad have a group-chat with all their friends on the island, and when 7pm rolls around someone sends a message that just says, “Pink?” And it’s like the bat signal. Everybody’s at the bar within a half hour.
Are you a regular, dear reader? I want to talk to you! Honestly, even if you’re not, I’d still like to talk to you. (I’m afraid to be alone.)