iI was almost to my lunch destination, a steakhouse in Burlington, when I saw a strip mall sign—the kind that lists every business in the complex—that read, above: CUM PARK PLAZA. And among the stalls, in faded print: Cum Park Grill.
I took a double. If there really is a restaurant called Cum Park Grill in this strip mall, I have to throw my planned column out the window and go there instead. I took a sharp turn to the parking lot, but the fireplace is nowhere to be found. I pulled up Yelp and saw that it was permanently closed. Only one review has ever been posted: “You have to try the special white sauce!”
I went back to the road.
Once a month, I make the 40-minute drive from Durham to Burlington to pick up medicine that is more often stocked at the community pharmacy here, so I’m a little off the beaten path these days.
Western Charcoal Steak House is right around the corner from Cum Park Plaza. It sits long and low in a sprawling parking lot, with a block-letter rooftop marquee sign that looks straight off an old Route 66 postcard. The menu I perused online gave the same impression, with prices that seemed to belong to a different decade.
Inside the steakhouse, there seem to be at least three dining rooms, each outfitted with wood paneling, frosted glass pendant lights, and booths upholstered in muted florals. It’s a self-chair, so I slide into a booth under a framed photo of a dog wearing glasses. A server breezes past and drops the menu on my table.
“I’ll be right with you,” he said.
Then came the second double take of the day. The cover of the laminated menu bids customers to “visit our other restaurants” and lists only one place: Parazide [sic].
Um, I’m at Giorgio Bakatsia’s restaurant?
Bakatsias is the restaurateur behind the upscale Mediterranean point of Parizade in Durham, plus Vin Rouge, Kipos, Nikos, and something like 17 other eateries throughout the Triangle and beyond. His empire spans Mediterranean, French, Greek, Italian, and Spanish cuisine, but I never knew he did classic American comfort food at low prices.
I looked back at the menu and noticed the name printed under the restaurant’s logo: Johnny Bakatsias, the owner. When my server returned, I asked if there was a connection to Giorgios.
“They’re sisters,” she said.
If you’re from Alamance County, this probably isn’t news. Per a 1984 Elon College magazine article I found buried six pages deep in a Google search, Johnny was the first of three Bakatsia brothers to immigrate from Greece to Burlington, joining his parents, who had worked in the restaurant business here.
Terry, who also worked in industry, was next, followed by Giorgios, who went on to build a culinary dynasty in Durham and beyond, with Terry working in his kitchen. Johnny has lived in Burlington, running this diner since 1971.
Upon opening the menu, double take and keep coming. The prices from the website, which I thought were outdated, were real — a hamburger was $4. Then, a different source of confusion: The first item in the lunch-specific paper insert reads “Toss Salad (NOT A vegetable),” which I had to ask my server to decode. She explained that lunch comes with two sides of “vegetables”, and Tos salad is not one of them. The actual vegetable options include macaroni salad, Jell-O, French fries, and candied apples, as well as some that live up to their name, like turnip greens, steamed cabbage, and fried okra.
I was hoping to order a proper steak, but even with this low price – $15.95 for “Johnny’s Special KC steak,” $17.50 for a New York strip – I’m over budget. So I turn to lunch specials and open with chopped sirloin steak with onions and gravy. For my two veggies, I got turnip greens and a baked potato. The meal also comes with hush puppies, and I nail it in sweet tea. With tax and tip, my total came to $14.82.
The hush puppies and sweet tea came out first. Tea, served in a tall tumbler with ice and striped straw, taste both sweet and tart, as if left steep one beat too long. The hush puppies arrived piled in the cart. A perfect shape of a cactus, with three arms reaching out from a thick trunk. I dunk each hand in margarine-there are about 15 packets on the table-and shoved the whole thing in my mouth.
My full meal arrived a few minutes later. Baked potatoes wrapped in foil. I doctor it with margarine and salt and pepper, score it in the crosshatch with my fork, and eat it in pieces. The turnip greens sit in a little ramekin; they are on the salty side, so I douse them in vinegar, which tames the edge.
Then I turned my attention to the chopped sirloin, an oblong puck drowning in gravy. The meat is well done and bound with diced onions, with a nice char on the outside that would risk drying the whole thing out if not for the gravy pooling around it. There’s a cognitive strain to eating it—it tastes like a no-frills burger fresh off a poolside grill, but I’m in a windowless dining room, squinting at dark meat under dark gravy on a beige plate. It’s like one of those brain teasers where you see the word “red” printed in blue ink and you have to name the color; My mouth and my eyes cannot agree. I decided to try looking elsewhere while I ate, to see if that would help.
In the middle of chewing, I locked eyes with a framed picture of a bespectacled dog and realized that it was not a dog; it’s a cow.
Looking for another place to rest, I turned to the two men on the other side of the dining room who had been engaged in a lively conversation since I arrived. They are reclined in their chairs, referring to each other as Moonshine and Starshine.
“Kiss me! I’m lucky!” one of them shouted, heading towards the kitchen, waving at the unseen. I laughed to myself. They should be used to it.
Or so I thought—until a few minutes later, when one of them asked the server her name. I’ve heard this server say she’s been working here for 10 years. Today asked me to look twice once again. Not usual, then.
“I’m going to kiss you!” The man shouts, again, towards the kitchen.
“He took his medicine this morning,” his friend announced, apparently gesturing to the booze, to the mostly empty dining room.
With that, I left to get mine.
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