Greggs: the Rhode Island place to have Gentile food

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Rhode Island, as I’ve said before, is a good place to put on the feedbag. We have tons of places to eat, and a surprising number of them are good: in Providence alone, we have Hemenway’s, and Red Stripe, and Cassarino’s. We have our share of chains like Shula’s and Fleming’s, and they are very good also (Partner and I are very partial to Fleming’s).

 

 

But sometimes you don’t want to spent $100+ for a meal.

 

 

And, for those evenings, there is always Greggs.

 

 

Greggs is only found in Rhode Island. There are four locations: Providence, East Providence, North Kingstown, and Warwick. (I’ve never eaten at the Warwick location. Maybe someday.)

 

 

They serve Gentile food.

 

 

They have sandwiches, and pasta dishes, and salads. They have wraps. They have liver and onions, to which I am partial.

 

 

Most significantly of all, they have huge delectable-looking cakes, which rotate inside big glass enclosures. You can always see them out of the corner of your eye while you’re dining.

 

 

Usually we skip the cake. Sometimes, however – especially if we go on Monday or Tuesday, when they’re having a special – we are forced to have cake, because it’s part of the meal, and we’ve already paid for it. We take it home with us, and it’s always wonderful.

 

 

The clientele is funny: lots of older people, lots of big families. It’s not expensive. It’s comfortable, and the waiters get to know you after a while. One of the waiters at the North Main Street location (who has a wrap named after him) still knows me after all these years, and still brings me a martini without asking. I mean, really!

 

 

Rhode Island is a great place for food. But you can’t always eat steak or lobster. Sometimes you want something simple and comfortable.

 

 

It is for this that Greggs exists.

 

 

So let’s go to Greggs. I’ll have the liver and onions, and you can have whatever you want.

 

 

And afterward, maybe a piece of cake.

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Picky eaters

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Partner suggested recently that we have dinner at Greggs, a local Rhode Island family restaurant.  I am in fact a Greggs Frequent Diner member (with a Double-Layer Membership!).  On Mondays and Tuesdays, they have a terrific special: beverage (within reason: coffee, soft drink, domestic beer), appetizer, main course (with extras), and gigantic dessert (their specialty), for $12 - $15.  You can’t beat that.

 

 

Partner had the turkey club and French fries. 

 

 

I had the liver and onions.

 

 

As a child, I was the pickiest of picky eaters.  I wouldn’t touch liver, or scrambled eggs, or raw tomato, or dill pickles.  I was the kid they had to order special food for.  My mother would never have thought of cooking liver; my screams would have been horrible.

 

 

Sometime around the Bicentennial, my mind/body changed.

 

 

I will eat just about anything now. I love trying new things.  Organ meats?  Love ‘em.  Broccoli?  My best friend. Alligator? I like it raw.  Liver has a silky texture and a sweet/savory flavor.  Whenever I order it, Partner always makes the same crack about the liver being the cow’s carburetor.  So what?  Maybe I like eating a big slab of cow carburetor, with slimy fried onions on top.

 

 

Recent studies have shown that childhood pickiness may be genetic.  It may have, in fact, protected our ancestors’ children from all kinds of dangers.  “If I do not recognize it,” Confucius said in Book 10 of the Analects, “I do not put it in my mouth.”  So says every child in America (and, probably, the world).  In the early history of our race, no doubt this squeamishness saved lives. 

 

 

Nowadays, however, it’s just annoying.

 

 

Then, even more annoyingly, some people take this squeamishness into adulthood.

 

 

Take my father.  He liked about ten things: beans, hamburger (cooked until it was gray, with lots of pepper), spaghetti, eggs with ketchup, things like that.  Mom cooked and cooked, but every meal had to include things Dad liked.

 

 

Mom was actually very unadventurous too.  She was terrified in restaurants, because the food was unfamiliar to her; it might not look the way she expected it to.  She preferred local Northwest burger joints like Burgerville, which (while very good) never surprised you with something new.

 

 

Not me, boy.  I want novelty.  I want sensation.  Gimme a platter of scallops fried in lard and topped with chicory and cilantro, with a side of hard-boiled duck eggs, and a glass of cranberry wine on the side.

 

 

Life’s too short to be picky.

 

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