The Dahl House

The restaurant was special to me because for the first 6 years of my life, my family lived in the apartment above what I called the “Restment”. Most people called it the “Dahl House”.  Our 2nd floor apartment was reachable from Main Street through a side door and a long staircase up the north wall, but we almost always used the switchback wooden stairs in the back.

This was the social hub of the community, ably managed by Leo, Blanche, Emily & Grandma Signe. Signe was up at the crack of dawn making pies with fabulous lard based crusts and a big batch of donuts. Then she peeled potatoes and started the meat dish in preparation for the lunch hour.  And then a nap before the lunch crunch. Leo had been a WWII cook and Blanche knew the restaurant business - a formula for a great small town eatery.

The main feature of the place was the long L-shaped counter lined with round swivel stools bolted to the floor. Here the wise and the pretenders would gather for morning and afternoon coffee to dispense wisdom, discuss the weather, exchange the local news and issue pronouncements on the state of the state or nation. Along the north wall was a row of 4 or 5 booths for those who wanted a bit more privacy and between the booths and the counter stood 4 or 5 tables.  Above it all was the greasy, constantly spinning ceiling fan. Winter and summer, it was never still. And a juke box with Hit Parade winners like "Green Door" & "How Much is That Doggy in the Window".

The place had a predictable ebb and flow.  From 6:30 to 8:00, the breakfast crowd came in for the eggs any way you want, hash-browns, bacon or sausage and some time with the Minneapolis Tribune. Then an hour lull and the morning coffee crowd would file in for coffee and a donut or cookie. The morning coffee ritual was faithfully observed by all the businessmen of the community. If you came to a store mid-morning or mid-afternoon, you were as likely as not to find a “back in 15 minutes” sign on the door. If you were in a hurry, you could help yourself to what you needed and leave payment on the counter. But most times, there was no hurry and a side-trip to the restaurant was in order. This was the time for “visiting”.  Almost always the starter topic was the weather and how the crops were doing, but as the coffee cup moved toward empty - with endless refills - stories and jokes at most anyone’s expense took over. Spook driving into the ditch – avoiding a deer so he says – but on account of an old crow according to the restaurant wisdom. Wimpy, who for years I thought was mute, taking down the ladder from the hardware canopy, howling in laughter, leaving painters stranded aloft. Or a long discussion on the merits of the new plastic eye blinders for chickens or what the hoopla was over this Sputnik deal. Disgust for any and all politicians – except our own home grown variety.

The heaviest traffic was for the noon meal – referred to as “dinner” - consisting of a blue-plate special: pot roast or meat loaf or fried chicken with mashed-potatoes and gravy, a cooked vegetable, fresh baked bread and coffee - all for a buck and a quarter.  Add another quarter for a piece of Grandma G’s apple pie. Of course you could order from the menu if you wanted but it was discouraged. Emily could give you the "look" that would help you change your mind. Then from 2:30 to 3:30, a repeat of the morning coffee experience. The evening meal – referred to as “supper” – was generally lightly attended unless a smorgasbord was being offered. Most people headed for home and hearth for the evening repast. But after supper, a few souls would stop in for an ice cream cone and a visit. Sunday dinner was a special meal, even renowned, with such a reputation that many "regulars" were from neighboring towns. When State Highway 55 was under construction, the Dahl House was the place to eat, so the 6:00 AM road worker breakfast business boomed.

The place was a mecca for kids too.  Next to the front door was the wondrous candy case, an ancient glass case with shelves of temptation that could be indulged for a nickel. Nut Goodies that took two hands to hold, Sugar Daddies that would last for a whole day and relieve you of your fillings, Hershey bars big enough to share, Chuckles, Candy Cigarettes, Blackjack gum and of course, the baseball cards that I lusted after at a penny a piece with a big slab of bubble gum next to the face of a Felix Mantilla, Johnny Klippstein, Hank Bauer or rarely, a Duke Snider. I usually bought a nickel’s worth and put all five sticks of gum in my mouth at once – a habit me and my teeth regret to this day. If I hit one card in five that wasn’t a duplicate or was a duplicate that was a tradable player – like Eddie Matthews or Pee Wee Reese, it was a good buy. Trading cards was a favorite pastime and we were savvy traders, much more savvy than the general managers who did it for real – although they didn’t have the luxury of offering 2 Ted Williams and a Yogi Berra for a Willie Mays. On the lunch counter next to the candy case sat 2 gum ball machines where for a penny you could get a monster gum-ball or a handful of sugary treats. But I got my fill of bubble gum from the baseball cards so, this held small appeal.

Behind the counter sat the ice-cream freezer and an industrial strength Hamilton Beach malt machine. A malt went for 25 cents and on rare and wondrous occasions, my parents would spring for these delicious concoctions. Rich vanilla ice cream scooped from 5-gallon tubs, combined with whole milk, malt and gooey chocolate or strawberry made for an extravagant indulgence.  Leo would fill the malt glass and give you the metal container as well, so you felt like you got 2 malts for the price of one. But if you were strapped, you could settle for a nickel cone piled high.

And, to the right, near the front door, was the pinball machine, the path to glory or shame amongst your peers. I tried to match the pinball wizards who nudged and coaxed the machine to mammoth scores, but I usually ended up with a “tilt”  - which wasn’t all bad since it gave me the chance to offer up some “if only” excuses.

And the restaurant was also right next door to the tavern – another source of my education.