A picky eater with lots of allergies and her father visit the Vanilla Bean Cafe

No Ice Cream

After I enjoyed lunch with my mom and daughter a couple weeks ago, my dad, Al, was quick to ask if he could take me to lunch. I don’t believe he was jealous, but instead wanted to get in on the blog action. I told him pick a place and a day and we’d have a date. Al picked a cute little cafe about an hour from home called The Vanilla Bean Cafe. The first time my parents stopped in they planned to order ice cream and enjoy it on the outside patio. Oddly, The Vanilla Bean Cafe does not serve ice cream. Nonetheless, my parents stayed for lunch and have been back several times. My dad describes it as haimish. Sadly, my Yiddish is not up to snuff, so I had to ask what this meant. Al explained it as friendly and Google Translate describes it as homey and cozy and I’d have to agree with both.

I Scream

Before I go into the details describing the cafe, I must tell you that my dad is not nearly as social as my mom. My mom knows so many people that I actively avoid the local grocery store. There is a high chance that I am likely to encounter no less than seven of her friends. And those friends will likely bombard me with questions about my kids, my husband, my book, my blog. What should be a ten minute trip to pick up a bag of chips usually turns into an hour and a half of me recounting my entire life history. Now, my dad has friends, but other than his two friends from school, I think they’re mostly friends by association. What I mean is the wives are friends, so the husbands are forced to become friends by default. My husband, Dan, experiences this phenomenon as well. I occasionally plan couples’ outings in hopes that Dan will make a friend out of an unassuming stranger while the wives and I gossip and boast about our kids. Back to my dad… I don’t believe I have ever run into a friend of my dad’s. Anywhere. However, as we stood at the counter of The Vanilla Bean to place our order, a woman exclaimed, “Al! Oh my gosh! It’s been forever! How are you!” As I watched them hug and the woman’s husband shake my dad’s hand, I thought, “What episode of Twilight Zone am I in?” These people did not look familiar to me, but they knew me by name and asked if I was still teaching. I politely answered their questions before they went to find an outside table. My dad then reminded me that they were old friends and then I remembered that this woman and my mom were probably on committees together when I was in elementary school. Once again, my dad is a friend by association, but he’s clearly a good enough friend to warrant enthusiastic hugs.

They Scream

After we placed our order we chose an indoor table despite the warmth because I have allergies and my dad just prefers to be inside. The small dining area displayed eclectic artwork of wildlife, landscapes, and other potential masterpieces for purchase. On another wall hung framed articles from esteemed publications such as The New York Times, The Yankee Magazine, and the Boston Globe filled with accolades and praise for this hidden gem. The rear of the dining room was equipped for live weekend entertainment. Everything about the room was haimish. 

We All Scream

As we sat, Al pointed toward a window at a group of diners dressed in leather pants and jackets enjoying their lunch outside. He then pointed to the bikes in the parking lot. He then whispered to me, perhaps nervous that these bikers would hear us through the closed window, that these were not your usual bikers. I tilted my head and wondered what exactly is a usual biker, but before I could ask, Al said, “These bikers, well, these are Gentleman Bikers and Lady Bikers. These bikers are very haimish. They are very well groomed with very expensive bikes and clothing.” The Vanilla Bean Cafe is nestled between two lazy state routes in the rural part of the state making it the ideal lunch spot for bikers and Sunday drivers alike. I must say, though, I’ve never met a biker who wasn’t friendly, but Al insists the bikers who dine at The Vanilla Bean Cafe are like the sprinkles on an ice cream cone. 

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