The Red Hawk Diner

People are always surprised when I tell them that food is one of the things I miss most from America. Most people who know me know that I’m not exactly a big foodie - I love a good dessert but in general I’m pretty picky and eat the same things all the time. But in America I found some new stuff that I really, really love, and I got to eat out... very regularly, so I really enjoyed food in a way that I generally don’t at home. But I’ve also realised that a lot of my positive thoughts about food are connected to the places I ate it and the people I ate it with; I’m far less nostalgic for the stuff I ate alone in my bedroom (except for cookies. I ate a LOT of cookies alone in my bedroom and I really miss them). One of the places I visited most frequently was the Red Hawk Diner, a 24/7 diner on campus. I often look back fondly on it so here is a little thing I wrote while reminiscing on my favourite memories there.

My first time at the diner reminds me of newness. New food on a new campus after sleeping in a new bed. Campus was empty and big and unexplored, and the coming semester felt the same, unknown and massive. I remember cold crisp air where you could see your breath. Hot curly fries and sugary root beer, but a stomach that was rolling a little too much to fully savour them. I was in this weird new world that was cold and vast and freeing and felt so separate from the world I had left at home just a couple of days before.

Next came excitement and awkwardness and new beginnings. Nervous small talk that dissolved into personal stories, silly accents and uncontrollable laughter. Then the rush of spontaneity as we ventured out to the diner late at night. As someone who plans things out in advance and goes to bed at a sensible time this felt so mischievous and freeing. I came home sleepy but on top of the world, unbelievably grateful for new friends and this crazy experience that was unlocking an excitement in me I didn’t know existed.

The ensuing diner visits all blur together but they almost always involved laughter. Laughter about the onion ring that didn’t have a hole or the shock on our friends’ faces as we told them stories about our roommate issues. Trying all the flavours of milkshake but ultimately deciding that simple vanilla is superior, even after eventually trying the freakshakes we had hyped up for months. Telling the guys at the table next to us about British slang and answering their strange questions about if the royal guard are really in Britain (or is it London?). Learning to ask for my food ‘to-go’ instead of to take home. Smiling when we saw it was our favourite waitress serving us that night. Leaving the warm comfort of the diner and having to run through the cold winter wind to huddle under the bus shelter.

We went for lunch, for dinner, even late at night after my Christian Fellowship meeting or after seeing a Broadway show in the city. It was the go to place to take friends or family who were visiting. I also went by myself a few times, usually to pick up food after my long evening class on a Wednesday so I didn’t have to think about making anything when I got home. I texted updates to my friends about the progress of my order so we could all chat about our day when I arrived back with my takeout box, which tempted me the whole bus ride home with its delicious smell. I also treated myself to a giant corn muffin and a milkshake for breakfast one morning when it was particularly hard to roll out of bed for my intensely boring 8:30am class.

It wasn’t always so happy and positive. We had a lot going on which we would talk through while waiting what felt like hours as the waiters failed to tell us that what we had ordered wasn’t available. And as the end of the semester drew nearer and nearer we became increasingly aware that there wouldn’t be many diner trips left. The last one was particularly melancholy. In the midst of a very busy day we made sure to spare an hour for lunch together, but the conversation was limited and the reality that it was all ending stopped us from fully appreciating it.

Nevertheless, I look back very fondly on all the memories. It sounds so cheesy but the diner really meant a lot to me. It was somewhere I visited regularly with some of the people closest to me and we got to bond and reflect and make memories together. It was such a quintessentially American place with its retro feel, soda in enormous red coca cola cups, burgers with a million different types of cheese to choose from, and a 24/7 breakfast menu, just a casual place for friends to hang out when they had a spare couple of hours to eat greasy food and gossip together. I had never really experienced a place like it before and likely won’t again until I’m next in America, so now when I am reminded of a diner I flashback to those memories and long to laugh with those friends again while eating chicken tenders and sipping on a thick vanilla milkshake. Clearly I hold onto sentiment and nostalgia very easily, so I am trying to remind myself instead to enjoy the memories I am making today so I can eventually look back on this period of my life with the same optimism.

My first time at the diner with Mum

The somewhat disppointing freakshake that I waited months for...

The infamous hole-less onion ring