Tag: Clara Bell
When I left college to enter the air force, I was in the midst of a year on the quarter system at Alabama. When I returned the university had changed to the semester system and I would lose almost a complete year if I went back; however, Livingston was still on the quarter system and the credits would transfer to Bama. I went two quarters and gained a year toward graduation.
I ate many a meal with Edwin at his establishment and can still remember the lemon icebox pie that was as good as it gets. I also remember that one evening I came in and ordered a hamburger and fries. The hamburger came in the middle of the plate and had three fries arranged in a triangle around it. I said nothing, but the next time I came in and ordered the same meal, I produced a potato and gave it to Edwin because I thought his old one was getting thin and worn out…. from then on, my hamburger was covered with fries.
Thanks to Mr. Koch for sharing his memories of the authentic Rosenbush Café
Every Sunday my parents and I would travel sixty miles down the two-laned blacktopped U.S. Highway 11, before the interstate system was built, often taking us an hour and a half because we’d get delayed at the raised draw-bridge, near Epps, where white chalky talc covered the small hills on either side of the Tombigbee River, and eat lunch with Uncle Edwin and Florence Speed, who ran the cafe for him.
I am allergic to tomatoes, which means I get awfully sick if I even think about eating a regular pizza or spagetti, both of which I love, but must avoid, except maybe once or twice a year, when I fall off the wagon like an alcoholic, and then afterwards I remember for days why I have them so infrequently. I, too, love hamburgers and Clara Bell would cook saucer-sized patties, covered with what has become my lifelong catch phrase, when ordering:
“Mustard only, please.”
Uncle Edwin would let me eat in the kitchen and I would sit in front of a huge fan, which was literally, from a youngster’s point of view, like the size of an airplane propeller, and I would eat a hamburger and fries, all covered in mustard, and let the smell of food cover me with the scent of the daily menu.
Every other week there was pecan pie on the menu. Fresh pecans from nearby trees and I was allowed to drink one small coffee, from a white cup with a green circle around the outer circumference.
I still have the cup.
Wish I had a burger, fries and slice of pie right now.
— Henry B. Rosenbush