The Trials of the (food) Court
We here at danlangdon.com live far from a monastic life. We get out and interact, reviewing and critiquing society so that you don’t have to.
In our journeys we sometimes find ourselves in the very belly of the beast: The Food Court at the Westlake Mall – a particularly vapid mall in downtown Seattle that no one seems to like. It was built in the last days of the 1980’s, replacing a much more interesting urban square that some local ninnies felt was “crime-ridden”. It is tall and narrow, filled with stores that only tourists could love, and the food court is located on the top (third) floor.
It calls its food outlets “Cafes”, which I suppose is meant to give the place a certain European air, but it definitely has an air of cafeTERIA. It has the culinary food groups demanded by the mouth-breathers: Mexican, Italian, McDonalds, and “Chinese” (their term for anything served with rice), as well as a number of places to buy ice cream, jelly beans and chocolate chip cookies the size of a small dog.
It’s frequented by the usual suspects: Sour looking old couples in matching sweatshirts (Christmas sweatshirts this time of year, of course) shifty-eyed suburbanites out for a day of big-city life, edge-of-tantrum toddlers, and the obligatory surly teens. At least half of them, of course, yakking on cell phones.
What gives this environment a special quality that you don’t usually find in malls is the presence of office workers. Since most of the good places to eat went out of business when the food court opened, those of us with gainful employment must sometimes seek our lunch in the food court. Office workers generally have limited time for lunch, so they walk quickly and purposefully. The average food court patron is what I call a “rambling ambler”: people (usually with ample rear ends) who walk veeerrrryyy slllloooowwwwlllyyyy – preferably in groups, so they block the entire traffic flow.
The mixing of these two groups can sometimes lead to interesting exchanges of the most vulgar nature. This is especially true when ordering, as the typical food court patron likes to peruse the menu and ask questions like “Is the Quarter Pounder really a quarter pound?” or “Do the noodles come with gravy?”
There used to be a real restaurant (i.e. a place with tablecloths and waitstaff) off of the food court. It was fairly basic and non-threatening (I think it was called “The Pasta Factory” or something like that) but I think that proved to “fancy” for the masses who frequent the Westlake Mall. After all, when you’ve spent a morning at the “Made in Washington” store, and still want to get to both Godiva and the Fireworks Gallery, you don’t have time for such high-fallutin’ dining experiences.
As you can well imagine, this is a nightmare situation for anyone with taste and breeding, so when I am forced to find sustenance there, I go before the lunch hour and get my food to go. I fear that having to actually sit in the food court during the lunch hour (especially a lunch hour during the holiday shopping season) would cause a total nervous collapse and require at least a weekend at a five star hotel to recover. As I have often stated, we here at danlangdon.com do not shirk our responsibilities to provide information to you, our loyal readers, but there are limits to our dedication. And “dining in” at the food court is one of them.
In our journeys we sometimes find ourselves in the very belly of the beast: The Food Court at the Westlake Mall – a particularly vapid mall in downtown Seattle that no one seems to like. It was built in the last days of the 1980’s, replacing a much more interesting urban square that some local ninnies felt was “crime-ridden”. It is tall and narrow, filled with stores that only tourists could love, and the food court is located on the top (third) floor.
It calls its food outlets “Cafes”, which I suppose is meant to give the place a certain European air, but it definitely has an air of cafeTERIA. It has the culinary food groups demanded by the mouth-breathers: Mexican, Italian, McDonalds, and “Chinese” (their term for anything served with rice), as well as a number of places to buy ice cream, jelly beans and chocolate chip cookies the size of a small dog.
It’s frequented by the usual suspects: Sour looking old couples in matching sweatshirts (Christmas sweatshirts this time of year, of course) shifty-eyed suburbanites out for a day of big-city life, edge-of-tantrum toddlers, and the obligatory surly teens. At least half of them, of course, yakking on cell phones.
What gives this environment a special quality that you don’t usually find in malls is the presence of office workers. Since most of the good places to eat went out of business when the food court opened, those of us with gainful employment must sometimes seek our lunch in the food court. Office workers generally have limited time for lunch, so they walk quickly and purposefully. The average food court patron is what I call a “rambling ambler”: people (usually with ample rear ends) who walk veeerrrryyy slllloooowwwwlllyyyy – preferably in groups, so they block the entire traffic flow.
The mixing of these two groups can sometimes lead to interesting exchanges of the most vulgar nature. This is especially true when ordering, as the typical food court patron likes to peruse the menu and ask questions like “Is the Quarter Pounder really a quarter pound?” or “Do the noodles come with gravy?”
There used to be a real restaurant (i.e. a place with tablecloths and waitstaff) off of the food court. It was fairly basic and non-threatening (I think it was called “The Pasta Factory” or something like that) but I think that proved to “fancy” for the masses who frequent the Westlake Mall. After all, when you’ve spent a morning at the “Made in Washington” store, and still want to get to both Godiva and the Fireworks Gallery, you don’t have time for such high-fallutin’ dining experiences.
As you can well imagine, this is a nightmare situation for anyone with taste and breeding, so when I am forced to find sustenance there, I go before the lunch hour and get my food to go. I fear that having to actually sit in the food court during the lunch hour (especially a lunch hour during the holiday shopping season) would cause a total nervous collapse and require at least a weekend at a five star hotel to recover. As I have often stated, we here at danlangdon.com do not shirk our responsibilities to provide information to you, our loyal readers, but there are limits to our dedication. And “dining in” at the food court is one of them.
posted by Catalina Vel-DuRay @ Wednesday, December 01, 2004
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