By Kaitlin Steinberg
By Minh T Truong
By Molly Dunn
By Brooke Viggiano
By Kaitlin Steinberg
By Molly Dunn
By Molly Dunn
By Eating Our Words
Ordering from a menu is an exercise in semiotics. You decipher what a restaurant serves by wading through a system of often meaningless symbols like "fresh" and "farm-raised." And then there are the foreign languages. On a menu, there is a world of difference between velouté and gravy. And yet, in reality, they are exactly the same thing.
But when you stand in front of a soul food steam table with a cafeteria tray and a hearty appetite, there's no such abstraction. The food talks to you directly. And you respond in a primal, Pavlovian way that short-circuits intellectualization.
Well, that's my excuse, anyway. I came to J.J.'s Cafebecause somebody told me to try the hamburgers. But after getting a look at the steam table, here I am eating a big fork- tender smothered pork chop with gravy, spooned over a pile of rice, with collard greens doused in pepper sauce with a square of moist corn bread on the side. A lunch so awesome it makes me forget what I'm doing.
On a subsequent visit, I sample the sublime chicken and dumplings, which come with fluffy noodlelike little dumplings and lots of chicken. That dish is marred only by the small bones that occasionally turn up in your mouth. I also try the smothered turkey leg over mashed potatoes with cabbage, my least favorite so far -- the turkey meat is too dry. But the mashed potatoes and gravy are absolutely addictive, and I manage to enliven the plain boiled cabbage with some juice from the jalapeño bowl and a jolt of pepper sauce.
J.J.'s Cafe is a squeaky-clean nine-table restaurant at the far north end of San Jacinto, not far from I-10. It's appointed in nondescript, industrial lunchroom style, with linoleum floors, fluorescent lights and Formica tables decorated with plastic flowers. The lunch special, an entrée with two sides and corn bread, runs $5.95. The burger is the same price. Signs on the sidewalk advertise a new breakfast menu that includes catfish and eggs. I would have loved to sample some, but as of this writing, J.J.'s still hasn't gotten the breakfast thing off the ground.
On my second visit, I screw up my courage and stand a good five feet back from the steam table. When I get the server's attention, I ask for a hamburger basket. To stand in front of a display of ready-to-eat soul food and ask for a short-order hamburger is a difficult thing for me to do.
On their birthdays and special events, I used to let my kids pick where we would go out to dinner. My older daughter, Katie, usually opted for a pizza parlor or a cool hamburger joint. To my chagrin, my younger daughter Julia's choice was always Luby's. At first I suspected that she was really interested in the cubed Jell-O. Then I speculated that maybe she just liked her meals bland. When she grew old enough to explain, she told me that what she liked about cafeterias was seeing all the food. "You never get the wrong thing," she said.
The hamburger meat is thick, though it looks like a frozen, preformed patty. It isn't cooked to death -- in fact, it's still a little pink in the middle. The meat comes with a Kraft single on top, a big bun, lettuce, tomato, dill pickle slices, raw onion, yellow mustard and mayonnaise. The big french fries are piping hot and crispy. It's a very good burger, not an exceptional burger. It was the wrong thing to order. I wish I had gotten a smothered steak or the Creole meat loaf instead.
While I eat my burger, a strange-looking bus with mesh over the windows and "Harris County Sheriff" on the side drives by. I always thought of this area, which is home to Houston Studios and located across the highway from DiverseWorks and Vine Street Studios, as an arts district. But I soon learn how diverse it really is.
J.J.'s is fairly crowded. A dozen people are eating together in half of the restaurant while two law enforcement officers hover around. When they stand to leave, they all get up together. One officer hands over some official-looking forms to the guy at the cash register, who signs them all.
"What was that all about?" I ask when they're gone.
"That was a jury," the cashier says. "They weren't allowed to talk to anybody. That's why they sat by themselves over there."
The cashier admits he is also the proprietor. When I ask for his name, he demurs. "I'm one of the Js in J.J.'s" is all he will say.
"Do you get a lot of jury members in here?" I ask.
He looks at me like I'm thick. "Yeah, we get lots of juries -- and lawyers and judges. There are 56 courts within a few blocks of here. And then there's the sheriff's department, and all the jails."
"Don't tell me the prisoners stop in for lunch," I joke.
"No prisoners, but an awful lot of guards," he says.