It is a monument to the best of taste and the worst of taste.
The Tavern, a pancake house on Emmet St. near the intersection with Preston Ave. and Barracks Rd., has been serving students eggs, waffles and grits since before most current undergraduates were born, and in the process has become a stalwart University institution.
On Saturday and Sunday mornings -- though for many, the morning is actually the afternoon -- groggy students come to the Tavern in flocks and droves to savor its unsavoriness, its fat, grease and cholesterol. The Tavern is more than a pancake house. It's a secular temple, open for worship from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. every day.
It is a place where hangovers dissolve instantly. The greater the cacophony on your plate, the more strains of grease fighting to jump on your fork, the better you'll feel 15 minutes later. And for those who want to cure their wooziness in the oldest of old-fashioned ways, there's beer on tap.
It is a place that appeals to an older generation of coffee drinkers -- those who have never had to order a "venti" or "supremo" size beverage because while the coffee cups may not be large, they're bottomless.
It is a place where irony does not exist, where a waitress can ask, "More coffee, hon?" and make it absolutely genuine.
It is a place where thousands of spirited discussions of students' heritage have begun with the simple question of who at the table has had grits before -- and who likes them. Where anyone who idiotically refers to ground hominy in the singular -- e.g. "I've never had a grit" -- invites immediate ridicule.
Those who have not experienced the Tavern have noticed it, and perhaps wondered if it's still open. If you were to pass it at any other time than, say, Sunday at noon, when the line stretches out the door, you'd swear it has been closed down for a decade. The slogan, painted in white on the roof, is an unmistakable sight: "Where Students, Tourists, & Townpeople Meet."
Examine the spelling. Townpeople, not townspeople. Where did the "s" go?
Shelly Gordon, owner of the Tavern for 19 years -- or "too long," as he puts it -- explains the slogan succinctly: That's what it always has said; therefore, it shouldn't be changed. Things don't change at the Tavern.
In a preemptive strike, he turns the tables on the interviewer. "The slogan ... has three errors in it," he says. "Can you find them?"
A trip outside reveals that the ampersand is actually backwards and the comma after "Tourists" is rather unnecessary.
The sign has been on the roof for at least 35 years, Gordon says, and it was much larger before the roof was redone about 10 years ago. "People flying in to the airport could actually identify the sign," he says.
But students and townpeople don't meet there as much as occupy separate spheres. Students strut in on weekends with an arrogant swagger that says, I was coming here first year before my hallmates even knew about it. And there's a reason students come first in the slogan: The Tavern does more than half its business on weekends.
"We serve maybe 600, sometimes as many as 700 people per day on Saturdays and Sundays. So the turnover is pretty fast, obviously. We seat a little over 90 people," Gordon says.
During the week, the Tavern is a quieter place, and the already lightning-quick service gets faster. Pull out a tissue or newspaper or start admiring the dead animals on the walls and -- klink! -- your plate is there. But weekdays are the townpeople's domain.
"On the weekdays, a lot of the people are repeat people who come in almost every day for our lunches. We get a lot of regular working people, not University people," Gordon says.
Those drawn in by the Tavern's exterior will find just as distinctive an interior -- a garish but somehow perfect atmosphere. The walls are adorned with posters from University athletic teams of years past, running Christmas lights, old sports equipment, bad paintings of nature scenes and, of course, antlers.
Much of the decorations were already there when Gordon took over; he merely enhanced them, putting two new animal heads on the wall to complement the two original sets of antlers, adding more posters, painting the rafters orange and blue. The tables and booths are original, from 1954, when the Tavern opened as a burgers-and-pizza joint.
The major theme of the Tavern is continuity. Gordon hasn't changed the prices in three years, and the menu has taken on only minor additions. Several employees have 10 or more years of service. "I've had two cooks die on me," Gordon notes.
The current cook, Lindsay Feggans, unmistakable with his wiry frame and electric-shock hair, says he's been there for 10 years but you'd believe him if he said 100. And he's somewhat reluctant to discuss the finer points of his craft.
How long does it take to make an omelet?
"About half a second or two."
How many orders can you handle at one time?
"I don't know ... I've done 1,000 dollars a day by myself here."
Do you enjoy working here?
"I like it, I've been cooking all my life! What is all this?"
This is an appreciation of a place that manages to persist in its timeless eccentricity. Year after year, it churns out the same perfectly runny fried eggs and pancakes piled high, waffles under a continent of whipped cream, hash browns with crispy little pieces of bacon mixed in and steaming grits with perfect consistency.
Forget those homogenized, health-conscious hangouts -- Starbucks, Arch's, Bodo's. The Tavern is real.
Waitress Helen Cady is the Tavern's senior employee with 23 years of service. She understands its essence.
"I really like it here. If I had to go somewhere else, I wouldn't feel at home. I feel like this is my home"
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