Movie Tuesday
And the curse of the every man
Every Tuesday in my Los Angeles is Movie Tuesday.
I love the movies. The darkness, the quiet, the anonymity, the others around me, the getting lost, the romance - I bought in to the whole cinema-stuff, while living in New York, lonely with time on my hands. No cinephile am I (my Criterion Closet choices will leave much to be desired), but a lover, yes.
Movie Tuesday is a promotion by AMC to have more people go to the movies during the week. The tickets are $7 and you can get a $5 popcorn, too. The $7 ticket price feels aligned with my outdated conviction that going to the movies should be simple, cheap, and easy when the reality is that, these days, going to the movies is expensive.
At AMC, night time movies are typically offered in the following time slots:
4PM, 7PM, 10PM
Oriented around a 9-5 life, I typically go for the 7PM slot.
Normally, I eat so much popcorn so quickly first thing that by around the 10 minute marker of the actual movie, my mouth is so salty and my hands so coated in artificial butter juice, I vow not to eat anymore popcorn for the rest of the film. The bag sits at my feet, 1/4 full. Another 20 minutes pass, I move around to get comfortable, accidentally kicking the popcorn over, kernels flying on the ground. I mourn the loss of the rest of my popcorn. I might have had just a little more. The movie ends, I clean up some of my mess, and I leave the theater slightly nauseous and still slightly hungry. I chug water and then decide to just sleep it off.
When Isaiah and I saw Highest 2 Lowest at 7:15PM, I did not get popcorn. The concession line was too long and we were 15 minutes late already. I took this as a chance to experiment: I will not get popcorn.
It’s 9:50 PM and the movie has just ended. I thought it was really fun and forgot about not having popcorn. I don’t feel nauseous, but I am hungry. I am aware it is close to when I like going to bed, and I do not like eating too close to bed time. Isaiah wants to stop at the chicken strips place right next to the theater, but they’re closing in 10 minutes. We stand in the fluorescent light of the shopping plaza. I search “food” in my Google Maps, and we go to the closest open spot: Coral Cafe.
Inside the Coral Cafe, I am reminded of meals out with my grandparents. The dark blue carpeting, the too-bright milk glass light fixtures, the honey oak country chairs - I could be in Florida in the 2007 eating at Cracker Barrel. The host looks about 18 years old. She is selling single candy bars under the glass-top host stand. They look a little dusty.
The restaurants smells of Fabuloso and hash browns. We sit at the curved bar in swivel chairs facing the kitchen. The TV is playing the Dodgers. Across from us is an older couple in a booth, not speaking to each other. I have an existential breakdown that Isaiah and I will become this couple, and he tells me I’m being judgmental.
These types of places sit at the precarious edge of nostalgia and depression to me. There’s the romance of being the “every man.” The single middle-age man next to me, the old couple across the way, the girls after-work group near the bathroom, me. At the same time, my growing up in suburbia has planted a deep aversion to being the “every man.” I spent so long dreaming of a life of travel, adventure, of somewhere else, out there, there, there… that to find myself, here, in a fluorescent, carpeted, silent-old-white-couples restaurant ordering from a 7 page menu... is a cause for concern.
I order Soup in a Bread Bowl. Everything else is over like $15.99 or is a pizza or a hot dog.
I rarely order Soup - looking past it on the menu for something more substantial. But at 10 PM on a Tuesday night, not wanting to spend too much on this meal, I reconsider the Soup. Chicken Tortilla or Chicken and Dumpling Soup for $6. Add a Bread Bowl for $3. I haven’t eaten a bread bowl, since maybe 2011 with Panera’s Mac and Cheese.
I order the Chicken Tortilla Soup. It is tomato-y, thick from the rice’s gluten, full of canned corn, crunchy tortilla strips, and not-quite melted sharp cheddar. It’s surprisingly light and fresh. The bread of the bread bowl is moist and tangy sourdough with a great chew and a gentle toast.
When I finish the soup, I am left with saucy, flavorful bread, like I had mopped up the last bits of soup from the pot.
I feel comforted and surprisingly nourished by this bread bowl. My sweatshirt feels softer, warmer, more like a blanket. The Dodgers game, a background murmur reminiscent of my parents’ television during dinner. Everything feels kind of home-y for a moment.
At 10:40 PM, the Coral Cafe is surprisingly busy. We finish eating and pay at the front with the 18 yr old host. I consider buying a Snickers. A group of 4 walk in dressed in sequins, long gowns, suits, and heels. They’re laughing, turning to each other to talk animatedly, the door swinging closed behind them.
I once again, feel like an every man. The person that passes by the group, as they continue on with their celebration. A signed check, an empty plate. I walk by them into the night.
Movie Tuesday!! Bread bowls!