In recent times the expression “fine dining” has been used frequently in the West Windsor and Plainsboro area, mainly in connection with new proposals for developing heretofore open land for commercial and residential use. To developers, I suppose it’s desirable to be able to say that in the area where their new houses, office buildings, or stores are going up there will be the opportunity for the owners or users to partake of “fine dining” in nearby restaurants instead of at home.
But what, exactly, is meant by “fine dining”? I suppose it could refer to any place where you are served a meal by a waiter or waitress while you sit at a table — or maybe in a booth. (I apologize for using the old-fashioned word “waitress,” since I realize that since around 40 or 50 years ago all servers — male and female — are supposed to be gender-neutral “waiters.” “Wait-person” was tried for a while back then, but it was an awkward mouthful and didn’t catch on.)
But being served at a table applies to many places that we already have in this area, such as PJ’s Pancake House or Carlucci’s Grill, and dozens more. Under some circumstances just sitting at a table is fine enough for me. But there must be more to “fine dining” than that.
Let’s start with the word “fine.” Fine is a very subjective word. When does “ordinary” become “fine” when you’re talking about food — especially in a restaurant? I’m sure it depends on who you ask, what their personal experience has been, and what the circumstances of the meal were at the time. But I’m also sure most would agree that “fine” does not include any place where you order “fast food” at a counter or window and take it to a table yourself or maybe out to your car, even if the Big Mac is the best thing you ever tasted.
And then, come to think of it, what’s the real difference between “dining” and just plain “eating?” I can’t think of any. (But I wonder what people would say if the New York Times changed the title of its regular Wednesday section from Dining to Eating.)
Let’s try some examples. But because West Windsor has only had real restaurants for a fraction of the time I’ve lived here, I’ll have to start with Princeton. In Princeton — before the shopping center opened in 1955 — there were just three places to eat on Nassau Street, one on Witherspoon Street, and one on Bayard Lane. There were also a few small places away from the center of town, but that was it.
On Nassau street there were Renwick’s, the Balt, and Viedt’s. Renwick’s was where Ralph Lauren is now, the Balt where Paper Source is, and Viedt’s next to what is now PJ’s Pancake House. On Bayard Lane there was the Peacock Inn, which really was an inn with overnight rooms plus a dining room. But it was far less elegant than it is considered to be now.
And on Witherspoon Street there was the only really “fine” restaurant in town, Lahiere’s. It featured a wide selection of entrees with the emphasis on French cuisine. It was also one of the few places in town where you could get an alcoholic beverage — besides in a bottle at a liquor store.
None of the other restaurants even served beer, although there was the Annex Bar and Grill. It was at the corner of Nassau and Tulane streets, but at street level, not downstairs as the Annex Restaurant was later for many years. There were also bars on lower Bayard Lane, Witherspoon Street, and lower Alexander Street.
The two hotels in town, the Nassau Tavern (not Inn) on Palmer Square and the Princeton Inn on Alexander Street, also had dining rooms and served alcohol. They would probably qualify for “fine” these days. But Lahiere’s was the best, and it, too, had rooms upstairs. I will long remember that they served the most expensive entree in town featuring filet mignon at $4. In those days you could get a very nice lunch in places that served it for 60 cents.
Today, just on Nassau Street, from University Place to Maple Street, there are 32 places where you can buy and eat food sitting down. On Witherspoon Street from Nassau to the library there are 10 more. But I’m sure few if any of them qualify for the designation “fine dining.”
Incidentally, the place everyone called the Balt was really the Baltimore Dairy Lunch — a name that seemed to vary from time to time depending on the sign out front, so everyone settled for just Balt. It was originally open 24 hours a day. It had a couple of waiters, but you could also sort of do it yourself if you were in a hurry.
At the back of the dining area in front there was a high counter behind which a man stood on a platform to take your order. Although the Balt had a printed menu, there were also menu items listed in chalk on a blackboard behind him. He would then shout what you wanted in a kind of restaurant code to the cooks in the back. You then waited a while, and when your order was ready he’d shout for you to come back to the counter and he’d hand it down to you.
You could sit in a chair at a table or in a chair that had a tablet arm to hold your meal. Not exactly “fine,” but you got used to it. Some time in 1961 the Balt was the victim of an unfortunate accident that accelerated its eventual shutdown in 1963. Someone was driving east on Nassau Street and passing Palmer Square with the intention of turning left to go down Witherspoon Street. The problem was that he turned about 50 yards too soon and drove between two parked cars and right into the front of the Balt. No one was hurt, and I don’t think much damage was done to the Balt, but it never fully recovered.
Going along Nassau Street to the east, there were no more restaurants and you got out of town very quickly. In the block between Vandeventer Avenue and Moore Street you first came to the A&P Supermarket (where the CVS is now) and the Acme at the corner of Moore Street. The Acme featured sawdust on the floors, a throwback to the days when butcher shops used it to sop up the drippings from newly cut meat, which was prepared in the shop by a real butcher. That Acme featured a large fresh meat department.
Beyond Moore Street and St. Paul’s Church and school you came to a succession of automobile dealerships. I know Dodge was one of them, but I don’t recall the others. By the time you came to Harrison Street you really were out of town.
In the other direction, there was Frank South’s garage at the corner of Bank Street and Nassau, where the American Express office is now. South was the local Cadillac and Oldsmobile dealer, and he had cars on display in the front window. In fact, the window is still the same now as it was then. But there are no Cadillacs inside, only desks.
Getting back to fine dining. If you were to try explaining what the “fine” part of that is, you would have to consider a long list of things, some of which many would agree on, but some of which would be of interest to only a few. Here is my list:
How close the tables are to each other?
What is the noise level?
Comfort of the seating
Courtesy and knowledge of the staff
Is the lighting sufficient to read the menu?
Quantity of the servings
The temperature level
Promptness of the service
Ease of understanding the menu
Liquor license or “byob”
Variety of choices on the menu
Wine list
Quality of the food
Ethnic-type food available?
Quality of the preparation
Cost vs. all of the above
Some would simply settle for “ambience,” a word that conveys different things to different people, but which is sometimes enough to describe a place to eat, good or bad.
Speaking of new and strange restaurants and menus, I am reminded of a most unusual situation my wife and I found ourselves in once in the restaurant at a motel in Charleston, South Carolina. We had made a visit there to see the historic old town and the Naval museum with the aircraft carrier Yorktown.
We stayed overnight at the local Howard Johnson’s, and when we went into the dining room for breakfast and seated ourselves a waiter came over and explained that there was only one menu, which we assumed meant that our choices were limited. We sat there for a while and no one brought us a menu to look at. When I asked for a menu, the waiter explained — again — that there was only one menu.
He meant that they had only a single copy of the menu — one piece of paper — and that it had to be passed around from table to table and shared by all the customers. Apparently they didn’t have a copying machine. So we waited our turn, and finally another customer brought it to us when they were finished. After we ordered we passed it on to the next customer. That’s definitely not part of fine dining.
When local developers say “fine dining” I still don’t know what they mean. Again, “fine” is a very subjective word, and your fine may be my ordinary. So when you hear the expression “fine dining,” take it with a grain of salt — or pepper.
