Brigham's Restaurant

I was starving. I just completed a consultation, ran a few errands, and was looking for a place to eat, not a drive through. Right there next to my bank was a Brigham’s restaurant. Now, for those of you who are older than dirt, you know the place, red and white booths, stools at the counter, and the ice cream display board above the grill. It brings back memories of a day when this was the hopping place to be with your friends after school, a shopping trip, or a Friday night date for fries and a hamburger. It was a destination. A place to hang out. A place to indulged with fries and ice cream.

But today, this restaurant was almost empty although just about noon time. I was warmly greeted by the familiarity of the place.  There were a few patrons in booths; no one seated at the counter. Holiday tunes were crooning in the background and several wreaths decorated the walls. Yet, I could conjure in my mind the sounds of kids chatting, laughing and maybe on occasion misbehaving just a little bit. People leaning over booth backs to their friends who could not all fit into the same booth. The sizzle of the grill and the shouts of the cook setting up the orders. Waitresses navigating the seating maze with plates of burgers and fries.

I splurged and ordered a club sandwich and diet beverage. I passed on the fries. After all, I am older now but had mentally debated the dietary ramifications of the sandwich coupled with the fat of fries or cole slaw. I justified the slaw as being healthier. And I sat in the well-worn booth reminiscent of the back seat of a 1960s Chevy. I just soaked it up as it was back in time contrasted by today. The sunlight filtered through the windows up front and cast an almost church like quality to the inner glow of the restaurant of today. All the brightness of the memories appeared to have dimmed considerably.

The price of the meal … $15. The price of the memory … invaluable.