It’s probably been two decades now, but for one reason or another; three of us started an infrequent lunch club. It probably began at some civic function when someone said, “We should go to lunch sometime” and I said, “I’ll put it together.”
Our mission was to find out-of-the-way restaurants for lunch. Our group consisted of Curt the architect, Ann the politician, and me. We’d been doing the lunch and talk-thing for a while. If someone couldn’t make it, the other two would go. This particular tale revolves around a North Omaha joint called E.P.’s Soul Bowl.
The Soul Bowl was located at 24th and Grant Streets.
Curt and I took off on our culinary adventure for some authentic soul food. When we spied our destination we parked along the curb, or kerb for our English friends. When we walked into the restaurant, there was no sitting area. Instead it was a 16’ square. There was a traditional counter all the way around the three sides of the area. On top of the counter was fencing from counter-top to ceiling. “Looks like its takeout only” we said with a laugh. I asked the woman behind the counter if there was anywhere to sit down and eat.
“You can sit in the field next door. I’ll give you a couple of folding chairs.”
We quickly ordered our fried catfish, greens, and a strawberry soda. Grabbing the chairs we went out to enjoy the spring sunshine.
Curt and I sat down and began talking. Pretty quickly the gal behind the counter came out with a big cardboard box. “You can use it for a table.” We hadn't reached the grumpy old man phase in our lives yet so, okay!
There we sat, in the grassy field on north 24th street; two folding chairs, a really big cardboard box, and the sort of sunshine and low humidity that lasts only a few weeks in the Midwest. It was a glorious day: what could go wrong?
Well, we were in a low socio-economic area and didn't exactly fit in. Having grown up on 24th & Kansas Avenue, it wasn't much of an issue. But I'd be lying if I said the absurdity of the situation never crossed my mind.
A huge black car slowly passed by on 24th street. It paused and then continued slowly down the road. “Hmmm,” I thought.
The car slowed even more and turned slowly into an alley and circled back, parking in our field.
“Hmmm, not good” I thought. Very slowly a massive African-American man got out of the car. Curt and I watched the man as he opened the back door. Abrownish man dressed like someone caught between a Jackson Pollock and Georgia O’Keefe painting, bedecked in silver and turquoise got out of the car. He paused to help a very attractive woman get out of the car.
“What in the world? This is pretty strange.”
“Dude thinks he’s Doc Severinson” said Curt.
I sssshed Curt.
Slowly a bit smile emerged from under Curt's busy mustache. He began to laugh.
“Man, be cool.”
“It is Doc Severinson” said Curt.
"What? No way.”
“Go see”
As the threesome walked into the Soul Bowl, I followed them and introduced myself. Sure enough, it was Doc Severinson (the noted bandleader for Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show). Pleasantry's were exchanged.
“Nice to meet you. What are you doing in town?” I asked. He was in town playin with the Symphony.”
Come to find out, when Doc traveled, he liked to get out of the celebrity bubble and do his own version of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, long before it became a show.
Satisfied with the brief celebrity encounter, Curt and I returned to our box and folding chairs in the sunny field to wait for lunch. Pretty soon the catfish arrived. The restaurant-woman brought out a bottle of hot sauce. “Good thinking” I thought.
Except, she didn’t bring the sauce for us.
Behind her came Doc and his entourage, each with a folding chair. And that was how Curt and I ate soul food on a cardboard box table one sunny spring afternoon in a north Omaha grass field with one of tv’s most famous trumpet players.
(For younger readers, insert the name Questlove, drummer for The Roots, and producer of the film A Great Day in Harlem, who appears on the Late Show with Jimmy Fallon, and you'll understand the story better).
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