Indulging In Simplicity
Walking up to Mancino’s, the end-cap of a band of businesses, all connected by the cement foundation erected from the pavement, it was beyond evening dining hours. The familiarity of what I was seeing immediately brought back memories of my first weekend in Eau Claire; the day after move-in for freshman college students, the memory of when my friend and I ventured off campus, in search of something as close to a ‘real meal’ as we could find without departing for back home. At about 7:00, a couple hours after sunset, I was about to embark on my Sunday dining experience. I walked into the cement-colored building, through a corner shaved entranceway, to smell an aroma of Italian sauces, mozzarella cheese, and the fresh grains baked deep inside the bread. Eager to begin my meal, I strolled over to the wall to the right of me, where the menu cropped the wall with numerous appetizing options. Once realizing which meal would satisfy my Italian craving, I stepped toward the man in a blue employee t-shirt and a white Mancino’s team-member visor, to relay what I was craving for dinner. He looked at me genuinely then replayed what I said onto a yellow padded paper. He raised his head up to make eye contact once again, wondering if I was going to be eating in the restaurant or taking my dinner elsewhere. I confirmed that I would be dining in and with that he tore the written on piece of paper away from the rest of the pad and handed it to his fellow Mancino’s teammate, whom had the duty to construct the food order. The original employee, who took my order, wandered back to the cash register where he proceeded to punch a few keys, eventually coming up with a monetary total for my request. An undersized $4.13 deemed appropriate for the small pizza grinder, a Mancino’s specialty, in which I ordered.
I seated myself, walking past an oversized mirror, weaving among the wide variety of booths and tables, and found a long table to accompany the group I was with. We sat among the picture covered white walls in black metal chairs on top of a vivid red, rubber cushion. Cleverly, the two colors psychologically associated most with hunger. Looking at the different pictures hung snug to the walls in an evenly, organized pattern, reminded me of presently residing in the Midwestern portion of the country. Numerous species of native ducks and birds, in vivid color, rested on the walls, halfway up the wall, superior to the maple-wooded chair rail. The unmatched décor looked as though it should belong in a red meat, beer filled sports bar rather than an Italian inspired “mom n’ pop” business. We sat amid the quiet under-filled restaurant, with a popular local radio station humming softly among the background of our conversations. After enjoying the company of each other for two handfuls of minutes, until the familiar face of the order-taking team member, wallowed over to our table of six with an oversized tray resting on his hand, parallel to his head. He gracefully set the tray of dinners to rest on the table nearest to ours, where he began to unload them in pairs. I looked in front of me, downward at the dark green plastic meal holder at a halt on the table. The screen-printed wax paper was colorless except for the Mancino’s logo and slogan. “For the best hot sandwich in town…grab a grinder!” I read with expression in my voice, anxiously awaiting that first bite.
Walking up to Mancino’s, the end-cap of a band of businesses, all connected by the cement foundation erected from the pavement, it was beyond evening dining hours. The familiarity of what I was seeing immediately brought back memories of my first weekend in Eau Claire; the day after move-in for freshman college students, the memory of when my friend and I ventured off campus, in search of something as close to a ‘real meal’ as we could find without departing for back home. At about 7:00, a couple hours after sunset, I was about to embark on my Sunday dining experience. I walked into the cement-colored building, through a corner shaved entranceway, to smell an aroma of Italian sauces, mozzarella cheese, and the fresh grains baked deep inside the bread. Eager to begin my meal, I strolled over to the wall to the right of me, where the menu cropped the wall with numerous appetizing options. Once realizing which meal would satisfy my Italian craving, I stepped toward the man in a blue employee t-shirt and a white Mancino’s team-member visor, to relay what I was craving for dinner. He looked at me genuinely then replayed what I said onto a yellow padded paper. He raised his head up to make eye contact once again, wondering if I was going to be eating in the restaurant or taking my dinner elsewhere. I confirmed that I would be dining in and with that he tore the written on piece of paper away from the rest of the pad and handed it to his fellow Mancino’s teammate, whom had the duty to construct the food order. The original employee, who took my order, wandered back to the cash register where he proceeded to punch a few keys, eventually coming up with a monetary total for my request. An undersized $4.13 deemed appropriate for the small pizza grinder, a Mancino’s specialty, in which I ordered.
I seated myself, walking past an oversized mirror, weaving among the wide variety of booths and tables, and found a long table to accompany the group I was with. We sat among the picture covered white walls in black metal chairs on top of a vivid red, rubber cushion. Cleverly, the two colors psychologically associated most with hunger. Looking at the different pictures hung snug to the walls in an evenly, organized pattern, reminded me of presently residing in the Midwestern portion of the country. Numerous species of native ducks and birds, in vivid color, rested on the walls, halfway up the wall, superior to the maple-wooded chair rail. The unmatched décor looked as though it should belong in a red meat, beer filled sports bar rather than an Italian inspired “mom n’ pop” business. We sat amid the quiet under-filled restaurant, with a popular local radio station humming softly among the background of our conversations. After enjoying the company of each other for two handfuls of minutes, until the familiar face of the order-taking team member, wallowed over to our table of six with an oversized tray resting on his hand, parallel to his head. He gracefully set the tray of dinners to rest on the table nearest to ours, where he began to unload them in pairs. I looked in front of me, downward at the dark green plastic meal holder at a halt on the table. The screen-printed wax paper was colorless except for the Mancino’s logo and slogan. “For the best hot sandwich in town…grab a grinder!” I read with expression in my voice, anxiously awaiting that first bite.
The pizza grinder lay perfectly in the middle, the aroma of Italian cuisine arising from it; the scents ranging from the whole grains of the freshly baked bread, to the garlic seasoning in each pepperoni on the very inside of the sandwich. The spiciness mixed with the tanginess upon the subtle essence of the bread was a match made in Italian heaven. On the far left side of the small plastic basket laid a stemmed pickle spear, contradicting the Italian flavor of the restaurant. I picked up the famous grinder, droplets of grease spilling out from the inferior end of the specialty sandwich and splattering onto the wax paper beneath it. The first bite tasted as true to life as the business owners hoped their slogan to be. I processed the food back and forth in my mouth, moving it across the sensory receptors on my tongue, and taking in every last tasteful moment. The taste delivered just what the smell had promised. I set the flavorsome grinder back to its original position within the basket. With everyone seeming to be having a commonly pleasant experience with their food orders, our conversations were able to mimic the strings of clear lights bordering the trim of the windows, and freely flow. It became easy to see why Mancino’s is one of the best kept secrets, unique to the Eau Claire community.
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