Alison's Restaurant

I like to read books about writing in the hope that someday some of it may rub off on me. M.F.K. Fisher is one author that is praised for her style and beautiful sentences. She wrote about food, cooking and eating. I have always been drawn to the eating part – the other two I have taken for granted.

In her book, “The Art of Eating,” Fisher writes, "It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it… and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied… and it is all one."

The art of eating has taken another hit. The Coffee Bean Café, a place where people could talk over a cup of this and a glass of that, has closed. Alison, the proprietor, also served salads, soups and sandwiches which you could enjoy while live music played. When the New Year opened for business, Alison closed hers. But, before it closed I think even Mr. Guthrie would have agreed you can get anything you want at Alison’s restaurant.

I went there from time to time and got to know some of the regulars. But either the regulars were too irregular, or not enough customers were accustomed to getting their food and drink at The Coffee Bean. It’s too late now to make a difference – but another quaint cafe’ closed its doors.

I suppose I may have had something to do with it. Not too long ago both Starbuck’s and Dunn Bros. closed their Shakopee locations. I had cursed the two of them with my presence too. Before that, Say When, another coffee shop went out of business. I had also been there. Even before that two other stores closed their doors: Pour Mary’s and Ground Zero. I had been in both places as well; I’m sorry, perhaps I should have stuck with just one.

So now there is one less place to meet someone for a cup of coffee and some snappy conversation. It’s like when people die – then we hear about what a great person they were and how they’ll be missed. When a shop closes that’s when we realize what we’ll miss about it.

At The Coffee Bean everyone bused their own dishes; it wasn’t required or expected – it just seemed like the thing to do. When you are home (at least my place), you may not actually do the dishes, but at least you clean-up after yourself.

The daily specials, written by hand, were displayed on a white board. The sandwiches, with names like “The Sommerville,” and “The Wermerskirchen,” reminded the menu-reader that you were in Shakopee. I liked to order the tomato soup and grilled cheese – it was fabulous.

Retired cops, old folks, business people, kids, music lovers, friends, writers, politicians, handymen, and lawyers had comfortably sat at those tables. One local storyteller earned his first dollar in show-business there entertaining women who wore colored hats.

The floor was fashioned with a cobblestone finish which gave the place a sturdy old- world feel. There were plants for sale from a guy in town who liked to grow stuff. You could also buy soap, candles, and greeting cards with the picture of a local celebrity in whimsical poses.

The seating options were varied: you could sit on a stool at the counter; as many of Alison’s friends did, and read the paper while you sipped, slurped or supped. In the corner was an old couch that was as comfortable as the one you had in your first home, and a coffee table (imagine!) with a better selection of current magazines than most dentist offices. High-back chairs and high tables were available when you wanted to feel important. There were chairs next to the wall and tables for two, four, six or eight. Who do we appreciate? I wonder.

Alison, I’m sorry I took you for granted.