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I’m a sucker for a good diner.
The retro booths and vintage chrome stools, the background hum of regular patrons, the no-nonsense waitresses in the sensible shoes, the hearty and non-pretentious food that arrives at your table in a flash, the constant clanking of the dishes, the bottomless cups of coffee — I love it all. I suppose the fact that my Greek dad’s very first business venture was a tiny diner at the corner of Mont-Royal and Henri-Julien Aves. back in the ‘60s has a little something to do with my soft spot for these modest establishments.
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During a recent day trip to Burlington, Vt., my friend introduced me to the local institution Henry’s Diner for lunch. While few places are as gifted as Montreal when it comes to offering a plethora of delicious breakfast joints and diners, I’ll occasionally allow other cities a chance to woo me.
While waiting for our order, I read up on the establishment’s long history. A Burlington landmark since 1925, its original owner was a man by the name of Henry Couture, instantly reminding me of Vermont’s French connection. “Between 1830 and 1930, close to one million immigrants from Quebec poured into Vermont and New England,” according to the University of Vermont, and nearly a quarter of Vermonters are able to trace their ancestry to French Canada.
At a time when the church and polite society looked down at diners, Couture chose to install pretty window boxes and striped awnings, making it attractive to families. The diner would later be purchased and operated by Frank and Roberta Goldstein, until Frank passed away and his son and other family members ran it. In 2004, Bill and Naomi Maglaris took ownership, adding the many Greek items one can find on the current menu; they, too, recently decided to sell and retire. This past March, Patricio Ortiz took over the popular business.
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When I visited, the booths were jammed with young and old patrons enjoying their favourites. My friend and I both had a classic BLT with a side order of thick fries. The pleasures of juicy, end-of-summer tomatoes on a bed of crisp lettuce, topped with perfectly cooked bacon and tangy mayonnaise on freshly toasted bread, cannot be overestimated. It was as good as one would expect.
As I sat there, squeezed between other out-of-towners and longtime locals, admiring the heaping plates of stick-to-your-ribs food coming out of the kitchen, looking at the American flag stapled to the wall, it occurred to me that this nearly century-old Burlington institution, this slice of quintessential Americana, was made — and continues to be made — possible by a constant rotation of immigrant families. Not unlike many of Montreal’s legendary diners and popular casse-croûtes, like Greenspot, A.A., Beautys, Wilensky’s, Chez Nick and Cosmos, to name a few.
More than any other business model I’ve encountered, diners and greasy spoons tend to be truly representative of the waves of immigration that come through a city. Many immigrants work in and eventually purchase these businesses because it’s often easier working for themselves than trying to navigate a system that isn’t always easy on newcomers.
During a recent trip to Ecuador, my friend and I found ourselves too tired to dine out one evening and stopped at a diner to grab some takeout. We struck up a conversation with the owners, who turned out to be Syrian refugees — just a few of many who had to hastily leave their entire lives behind to escape war and destruction. The patriarch seemed overworked but stoically pragmatic, like almost every immigrant diner owner I’ve ever met.
These institutions may be humble, but like Quebec’s glorious cantines — selling poutines, fries, shrimp and lobster guédilles by the roadside — they help define the heartbeat and soul of a place in the most delicious way.
Toula Drimonis is a Montreal journalist and the author of We, the Others: Allophones, Immigrants, and Belonging in Canada.
toulastake@gmail.com
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