The Ministry of Questionable Food
One of the writers I read and love is James Lileks, who wrote a book a few years back called “The Gallery of Regrettable Food” (he has highlights and new material in the ONLINE version). One of the things that Lileks does well is capturing the social relationships that make life interesting, funny, and poignant. All this, as an introduction to some of my thoughts about food, and a unique place to eat.
Farmington Steak House is an amazing place. The food is plain, and would probably give a cardiologist a coronary. But despite that, the food is served in a surprising atmosphere of love. The food may be questionable, but the service and ministry that they provide is inspiring.
The parking in downtown Farmington is all diagonal, an oddity these days, but a welcome convenience. As you pull up to the painted brick building, you see the daily specials taped to the inside of the windows. Some of the signs announcing the specials have been there for years, though occasionally, the prices will change thanks to adhesive tape, index cards, and a black marker. A steakburger and and order of fries is about $2.50, so be forewardned, this is not fancy eating.
You enter the building through the front door, and find yourself inside an unlit entryway (with no windows) that is about four-feet-long. Through another door, and you are inside the restaurant proper. A long, stainless steel counter is on your left, and the seating area is directly ahead and to your right. The atmosphere is small-town diner–mostly formica. The place is clean, but no one would mistake the ambiance for elegance. The lighting is bright, mostly fluorescent, and the divider between the food line and the dining area has several of those old, 1960s vintage decorative liquor bottles.
Usually, someone greets you from behind the counter as soon as you walk in, regardless of how many people are in line. Make your way to the start of the food line, grab a tray, napkins, and silverware, and tell the nice person behind the counter what you want to eat.
Your options are simple, generally BOHOM (Big Ol’ Hunks of Meat) with either baked potato or french fries. There’s an extra charge for french fries, but it’s generally worth it. As soon as they take your order, you move down the food line to your right. You can have a) salad–iceberg lettuce with your choice of 3 dressings (Russian, Blue Cheese, or Greek Vinaigrette) or b) soup of the day (generally home made, but not always–I think the soup depends on what is available, but the beef barley is the best). Order your drink, pay your bill, and (you ought to) leave a tip in the tip jar on top of the cash register. This is the point when people get confused, because whoever happens to be working will then tell you what happens next. For instance, some orders take little time, and they ask you to wait for your order. Others, however, take a little more effort, and they tell you to sit down and they will bring it to you. They always do.
I come here every other month or so, and I usually order the gyros because they are the best I have found, anywhere, at any price. I pay the extra for french fries because they are made from real, skin-on potatoes [aaaah! I’m Dan Quayle!].
My suburban friends like to laugh at this place because it is, well, not a place with culcha. Real people eat here–people who do hard work for a living; people who are down on their luck; people who are small town folks who don’t like the fact that their beloved town has become a suburb of St. Paul. No one puts on airs. Old friends often meet here.
The Farmington Steak House has been owned by a Greek family for as long as I can remember. Over the years, they have closed regularly on Easter and Good Friday so the family can spend time together in worship. They live their Christian faith out in many ways, and over the years, I have seen them give a second chance to literally hundreds of people–a short term job to help folks get back on their feet, or a meal for a struggling family (no charge, of course).
The one thing that has always fascinated me about the people at Farmington Steak House is the fact that you will only be a visitor once. If you go back a second time, you are family, and they treat you that way. I love these people, and I scarcely know them. So, every other month or so, you’ll find me there having my Gyro and listening to the joyful conversations that take place at the food counter. Hi, buddy, how you doing?; How’s your sister?; did your husband get back from Texas okay?; You didn’t bring your buddy with you this time, is he okay?
I’m not sure they have any idea of the impact they have had on so many. I often wonder what it must be like to be part of such a tightly knit family/community. I marvel at the energy and compassion shown by the father and mother, and I wonder at the lives of their beautiful daughters. At one point, I wondered what they must be giving up to continue to work in the family restaurant, but now I am amazed that the richness of their lives (and I pray that they recognize the blessing they have in their way of life).
So, to Pete and all of his family, God Bless you. You’ve taught me, in some very practical ways, what it means to invest in the lives of individuals, and in the life of a community. You know how to live out the Love of Christ, and you demonstrate that by welcoming so many through your door with a genuine gift of hospitality. We all know that Harvard Business School will never come out to do a case study on the leadership dynamics in your restaurant. The longer I see you serve, the more I think they should.