Public Life and the American Diner: The Magnolia Cafe

For good examples of public life, we Americans generally look to Europe, to the cafe or the pub. There is a wistful quality to our gazing longingly across the pond at these fora, burnished images of Parisians sitting at neatly aligned tables, basking in long, autumnal sun rays, or Muncheners laughing loud and singing vigorously and off-key around a heavy-boned table in a high, thick-timbered stube, or Venetians standing at the cappucino counter, arguing emphatically with their fellow citizens, their soundtrack the distant cry of the gondoliers, the sussurant cooing of pigeons, the wheeze of a calliope in the corner. Who wouldn't long for such idylls? They are lovely, and having indulged in a few of them in my various moments of waywardness, I admit that they can be nice, if you like that kind of thing.

But at a certain point I get impatient with all of that other-loving, exotification crap. I mean, let's be real - it's fun to visit Europe, to hang out in these places for a while, to feel like we're absorbing 'culture,' but, as William Carlos Williams once said, why should we spend so much time learning English when we have a perfectly good language of our own? We're Americans, and while hanging out in Le Odeon for the afternoon reading Le Monde and sipping at a glass of le anisette is an authentic part of la vie for le Parisian, it's actually a part of le vacation for us. Sure, when we're feeling restless or special, we'll get a croissant, but toast is what we usually eat, and omlets (not omelettes) aren't for lunch - they're for breakfast. And pancakes? Well, if you want a pancake in France, be prepared to be sneered at, if you're understood at all. Nope, it may not be the same thing, but the equivalent to the pub or cafe' as it's evolved in the freedom-loving US of freakin' A, in spite of all of the efforts of Starbucks, is the diner. You want to understand Madrid, go to the bars; you want to know Dublin, spend time in the pub; Rome, the cafe's. You want to know a neighborhood, a city, a town, a village in this country, go to the diner, and in Austin, this means The Magnolia Cafe.

The Magnolia greets you with a sign that says, "Sorry, We're Open," setting just the right tone: slightly acerbic, familiar and not at all precious. This is the ethos of the diner as a form; it's not, as it purports (one must believe smirkingly) a place to dine - it's a place to eat. It's not a place to make the scene; it's a place to jaw. And if you want to sit up straight, more power to you, but most of us slump, throw an arm over the booth back or chair next to us and cut our meat with the sides of our forks. This is home, or an annex thereof.

The Magnolia that I frequent is on South Congress Ave, at the tapering (or sharpened) end of the up and coming (some might argue done and gone) trendy, artsy strip. I'm told that the neighborhood, until recently, was not a particularly nice one, that the gentrified cottages and bungalows that lounge in the shade of the large old live oaks in the blocks behind the place were once rundown, unprettified and cheap as dirt. This kind of characterization I usually take as code for a neighborhood where upper middle class white folk felt at risk, which is it's own secret way of saying that, well, maybe they weren't at risk as much as they just weren't, as they are accustomed to, automatically considered the most specialest people on the planet. In old Soco, I conjecture, these folk were probably looked at, talked to and treated like they, just as everybody else, had fucked up a few times in their lives, had some problems lurking under their polished super-egos, and might even, given the chance, be assholes. Or good people - either way, it wasn't just a foregone conclusion that, because you drove a BMW, you were trustworthy, accomplished, elegant, morally upstanding and competent.

This attitude still holds true at Magnolia. The place is a little bit shabby, a little bit grungy, the wait staff and kitchen folk are the same, the food is basic, plentiful and not particularly charismatic, and no apologies are needed or offered. In fact, you'll eat there precisely because of these things. The menu offers the standards that any diner needs to offer: burgers, fries, clubs and monte cristos; pancakes of several varieties, omlets (under breakfast, where they belong), breakfast combos; chicken fried steak, a few pasta dishes, a chop here, a chicken finger there. Do I need to give you detail? No - because you could probably name 80% of the dishes Magnolia serves without ever setting foot in the place. A few of the offerings, if you weren't from these parts, might surprise - enchiladas on the dinner side, migas on the breakfast - but if you're from the east coast, just substitute the gyros, and if your from the west, the brown rice, tofu and vegetable stir-fry. Not great, not offensive, but good enough to eat while you're talking about what the hell you were thinking when you decided to have that 9th or 11th or 13th shot the night before. It's food that won't make you feel worse, and will probably make you feel better (depending on just how many shots you did).

My wife and I eat breakfast at the Magnolia, almost exclusively. Caroline is a habitue of the cornmeal pancakes (massive), the corn bread (seeing a pattern?) and the scrambled eggs - all good, solid choices. Offering real maple syrup for the flapjacks makes me happy, as well as the option to mix in blueberries, pecans or other enhancements. I usually get an omlet - the T-Rex is a solid, 90s throwback combo of turkey and avocado with the nice addition of some jalapenos - or just eggs and sausage (patties, no links, which is just fine with me). It's all good, delivered without too much fuss by people who obviously both enjoy working there and don't feel the need to compromise their self-esteem in doing so. Go there once and they'll be polite. Go a few times and you'll probably get a hello and a smile that's more than just obligatory. Go there a bunch and you'll make some friends.

On a given morning at Magnolia, you'll see a good bucketful of hungover U Texas and St. Edwards University kiddies, carefully frowzy and, as all people of that age, either being made or on the make; a handful of families from the neighborhood, kids sporting mohawks or shag cuts and looking way, way too cool for their parents; a few professors from the aforementioned institutes of higher ed trying not to notice their students; some emaciated, multi-tatted rock and roll musicians who are legitimately hungover (occupational liability); a few scenesters trying to look more hungover than they are; young couples who are so desperately in lust that they have to sit not just on the same side of the table, but actually on top of each other; a few lost supermodels from up the way; a couple of equally lost suburbanites from the other direction; maybe a biker, maybe a tweaker, and any number of tourist types who have found their way here because it's in every guide book ever written about ATX. There are folks of color, 'mos and dykes, old and young, hippies, yuppies and red-necks, frat-boys, prom-queens and junkies.

It's a beautiful scene if you're eyes are attuned, as mine, to the way the massive variety of shapes and colors that are America break against one another, then re-form, then break again, like the colonial, post-colonial, immigrant and post-slavery flotsam that we are. And yes, while there is something very special about a pub in Dublin, whole families packed into tiny booths, the young 'uns drinking milk and the elders the milk of the malt; or a courtyard trattoria in Fiesole, a clan gathered around massive platters of antipasto and heaps of pasta, toasting and arguing and laughing, no less special is that old pirate sitting over there, shoulder to shoulder at the counter with a pretty young thing, who is being looked over by a dope in Polo shirt and faux hawk, who is being laughed at by a group of pegged-jean hipsters who are being checked out by the pirate's 'mo friend who the pretty young thing thinks is straight and just sooo cute...and that's just the tables near the kitchen. Whether it's the Austin you like or hate, or pine for or rail against, that's waxing or waning or just plain staying right where it is, you'll see it at the Magnolia. Go, and while you're there, have a bite to eat.

The Magnolia Cafe - several locations, including South Congress at Live Oak