Lunching at Nordstrom's

I went to Nordstrom's for lunch yesterday--all by myself, on the return trip from my Folger Docent Training class. It was odd. I hardly ever go there unaccompanied. It's some sort of self-imposed rule that seems inviolable, but has no basis. In any event, I wanted a salad, and--in case you didn't know this--Nordstrom's Cafe has a whole menu of great salads, including my favorite: their Chinese Chicken Salad. (I have to say that my previous statement about the 'whole menu' is based on other opinions. I never get anything BUT the Chinese Chicken Salad.) And I had parked at Pentagon City and caught the Metro downtown, so I had to pass Nordstrom's anyway...

While I waited for my meal, I lost myself thinking about how many people I've met at Nordstrom's Cafes. These restaurants are my rock. No matter where you go, if there is a Nordstrom's, there's a Cafe--usually tucked away near the children's department, or by the china section, but always there. The menu is always the same (my Chinese Chicken Salad!) and I know the drill: order, pay, find a table, and wait for your food to appear. Even the clientele is pretty predictable: ladies pausing in their shopping, groups of office workers meeting for lunch, moms with strollers and/or toddlers. It's surprisingly quiet, it's seldom crowded inside, though there is occasionally a line at the entrance. Service is prompt, and there's always a piece of chocolate on the tip tray afterwards.

Over the years, I've met friends there; I've taken a break during my Christmas shopping blitzkriegs there; I've discussed issues, problems, decisions with any number of friends and relations. It's been the scene of reunions, casual meetings, and farewell luncheons. I can barely remember all of them.

Some lunches stand out. The friend who initially put me on to the place has moved away, but I think of her whenever I walk in the door. "You've never eaten at NORDSTROM'S??!!!" she asked incredulously when I mentioned I didn't know they had a restaurant in the store... Whenever I order my salad, I think of another friend. She urged me to try it (me! who barely tolerates lettuce in any form!) and I was won over immediately. She died several years back, but she lives in the Nordstrom's menu for me. The co-worker who surprised me when I took her there for a 'ladies' lunch' when she told me she'd always wanted to go there because the GUYS in her department always did.

My favorite story was another 'lunching alone' occasion. I had flown to Providence to meet my daughter's movers. She and her husband and their daughter were driving cross-country and the movers beat them to the east coast. I arrived at 2 PM the day after the movers had pulled in, landed at the airport, rented a car, picked up a key at the real estate office, tracked down and paid the housecleaner who had cleaned the place the week before, located and paid for a storage unit, contacted the movers, met them and transferred a portion of the van's contents to the storage unit, arranged to meet them at 8 am the next day at the house, had myself located and gone to the house and bought some basic supplies after finding the nearest Wal-Mart and supermarket. All this in a city I had never before visited. A city where streets are erratically plotted and often unmarked. In short, I had spent the entire afternoon going the wrong way, making u-turns, missing turns entirely and being frustrated beyond endurance. In unprecedented 90-degree heat. And with no AC at the house.

Finally, I was ready to find my B&B and collapse. I tried. I really did. But downtown Providence defeated me. I found myself on the road to Boston, made my thousandth u-turn of the day, and headed back toward downtown. I missed the turn onto the road I needed, and saw ahead, like a beacon in the distance, the sign for Providence Place--and the Nordstrom's logo. I took the exit, parked in a dark and confusing garage, and walked into the mall. I found Nordstrom's. I found the cafe. I found a table overlooking the state capitol building, and relaxed for what seemed to be the first time in a week. (Did I mention that the day before I'd left home, we had closed on a new house ourselves and had been packing for a week or two already?) I had the move-in the next day, unpacking galore ahead of me, and I still hadn't found my bed for the night, but for one brief dinner-hour, I was back to normal. It seems anticlimactic to add that, when I pulled out of the garage, there was, miraculously, a sign that pointed me toward the street where my B&B was. I arrived within minutes.

My port in a storm--Nordstrom's and the friends I've lunched with there. They go together.