When I was a little girl, we rarely said the word “restaurant.” We knew there were some in bigger towns, but we had a café. Pronounced kuh-fay. It was attached to the gas station at the Y, meaning over on the highway where the road bisected. You might walk there after watching a high school basketball game for a coke and a bag of Fritos. Maybe with a boy, who would pay. I remember Loyd. Spelled with one L. First boy who kissed me.

Loyd and I sometimes walked down town after school too for a cherry coke at the drugstore. He always paid.

Boys always paid in those days. I never gave it a thought.

Then he walked across the street to work in his family’s little grocery store. I hope they paid him. Cokes cost 5¢.

When I visited Mama Harrison in Durant, she might take me out occasionally for the plate lunch special. It would cost about 65¢. Maybe a scoop of mashed potatoes topped with gravy and a small piece of mystery meat and some green beans. Dessert was extra. Maybe a tiny bowl of banana pudding. She would have a cup of coffee, unlimited refills for 5¢. Actually, this was in a booth at the drugstore. No one left tips.

Today, I read in the local paper that “four new restaurants are opening” in town.

Not.

Actually, they are not kuh-fays either. Food carts. With tip jars.