La Dolce VT: Down the Road

By Randal Smathers

Every once in a while, an institution passes into history, leaving fond memories and possibly a for sale sign: Eight-track players, rotary dial phones, $1 per gallon gas. They don’t disappear in a bang, like Enron, they just sort of fade away.

Some things go in and out of fashion: Skinny ties, sideburns and skirt lengths seem to be on a regular rotation, and I saw a polyester disco shirt on a trend-setter type last week, but I’m talking about things that have failed to adapt to changing circumstances — video-killed-the-radio-star, silent movie actors with squeaky voices, American League pitchers who can handle the bat — gone-and-not-coming-back things.

I’m talking about the great American roadhouse.

Of all the jobs my dad ever had in a blue-collar working life, my favorite was driving truck for the Fairview auction market, going from farm to farm picking up and delivering livestock. I was 4 and got to tag along sometimes.

Days when Dad drove solo, he’d take a lunch Mom packed for him, but days when I went along, we would pick a spot and go in for a meal. I remember always getting veal cutlets because Dad did: slices of meat pounded thin, breaded, fried, topped with gravy and served with mashed potatoes and sometimes a vegetable on the side. He usually got a Coke; he always asked for a Pepsi.

Some places were maybe a little better quality or a little better priced than others, but you took your chances, walking in past the cigarette machine in the entrance, blinking to adjust to the dark interior. The remarkable thing, in that era before chain restaurants took over the landscape, was how similar they all were: Vinyl-covered booths with Formica tops, tables with wooden chairs and paper placemats, a row of stools along a counter.

I don’t recall how we decided where to eat; I suspect Dad had regular stops, but I don’t recall any.

I do know that one of the lessons Dad taught me that turned out not to be true was that truckers knew all the best places to eat. Truckers know all the best places to get a semi in and out of the parking lot. There can be a difference.

But parking was and is one of the factors to choosing a restaurant, particularly on a busy highway. Unless you know the road, how long do you have to decide to pull off or not? That’s what has made chains as successful as they are: You know what you’re getting before you pull off the highway. Good independent restaurants do well with the locals, who find them by experiment or word of mouth — or in a column in the local paper — but they have a hard time competing with the chains when it comes to getting drivers to put on the turn signal and hit the brakes.

There’s other things going against roadhouses these days — besides the Patrick Swayze movie.

Pretty much by definition, roadhouses are halfway to someplace else, so people have to drive to them. A lot of the great, old-school places made their reputation — and their money — on serving a good steak and a cocktail, but that was before anybody worried too much about having a couple of martinis and driving home. And frankly, for the out-of-staters who are looking for a roadhouse, Applebee’s does a very good imitation of one — and has brand recognition to boot. It’s tough competition.

Independent restaurants are also hard to sustain from owner to owner when they’re sold, because a lot of their draw is the personal touch, so even the successful ones tend to have a shelf life. I fear we’re on the last generation of the true roadhouse, and I’ll miss them.

For the most part, the ones that have survived are geared toward the breakfast crowd. It’s a better business model. Drinking and driving isn’t an issue; the food cost on eggs is pretty reasonable and it’s even better on hash browns, pancake batter and coffee. Successful ones tend to be in smaller towns, where there are fewer chain competitors, but they still have the prerequisites: Good food, good service, reasonable prices, family-friendly, with easy-to-access parking on a busy highway, and preferably a counter where the locals can gather to discuss the weather.

My favorite is Rosie’s, in Middlebury — so halfway to Burlington from here. The food is always good, the prices reasonable and the service friendly, as are the guys sitting at the front counter.

It’s on your left, headed north on Route 7, just before the town proper, in the middle of a big parking lot. As they say, you can’t miss it.

Herald editor Randal Smathers writes weekly on dining. Do you know of any good roadhouses or out-of-the-way eateries? Drop him a line at randal.smathers@rutlandherald.com or write your own review online at www.invitevt.com.