Editor's Note: This post is the first of a month-long series, "Up All Night," on St. Louis culture after dark. Check back every Wednesday for the next installment.
Most restaurants, on a Friday or Saturday night, are still cranking at 9 p.m. Either diners have booked themselves a late reservation, or they’re lingering with an after-dinner drink or dessert; or they’ve become trapped in the interestingness of their own chatter. The Courtesy Diner, Kingshighway Division, is a different kind of eatery, one that runs to the beat of a very particular clock.
At the Courtesy, 9 p.m. is the time of day that might be the slowest of all. It’s then that grills are scraped over and over by cooks who quietly yelp as they singe their elbows; they scrape with those steel-wool scrubbers for minutes on end, until the day’s wear and tear is wiped away. You can get a cup of coffee or a slice of pie at 9, but even those orders seldom go over the counter, since few people actually take the time to stop in. The rush will come of course, in staggered waves. The first appears around 11 p.m., as those who’ve imbibed since happy hour have finally run their night’s course. By then, the Courtesy has adjusted to the vibe of nearby taverns; now it’s the 1:30 a.m. set that rolls in, followed by the 3 a.m.’ers.
And with Sandrina’s and the Trophy Room just a few blocks away, there’s seldom a shortage of customers on a Courtesy weekend, as the overnight hours turn into morning.
Last Friday, the routine was a somewhat predictable one, with the usual crop of small iterations. On some nights, there’s no escaping classic diner songs. (If Patsy Cline were alive today, she’d marvel at how much her music still gets played in the wee hours.) This past Friday, the audience was in the mood for something heavier, and Metallica was the sound that soothed the collective soul of the Courtesy. Although the music was hard, the speakers on that jukebox have never known the advance setting of “11,” so the volume was strangely subdued, even as one rocker intermittently, almost spasmodically played along on air drums, sticks substituted by knives.
Of course, one customer always has to try on the mantle of village idiot, and this evening’s contestant was a woman who spoke too loudly, at too many tables, and in terms too intimate for proper public discourse. Her old man seemed cool with it all, definitely so when his order of gravy-drenched biscuits came over the counter; if he was quiet before, he went mute with food on the plate. His ever-lovin’, though, paused long enough to chew, before launching into another story. What these stories were about, who can really remember, though they were as salty as the diner’s fries. Funny, kinda. Inappropriate, no doubt. Memorable, not really, not at all.
By 3 a.m., the tables along the long, glass front of the building were full, with the counter suspiciously empty, save for a late arriver who spoke half to others, half to himself. He made an order, commented on it to no one in particular, then spent minutes looking around the room for eye contact; we’ve all known that look and we’ve been trained to glance away. Even a moment’s locking in leads to a discussion that might not go places we want to go. It’s best to stare ahead, or, for those with a bit of smarts, to look at the book, magazine, or newspaper that you brought with you in case of exactly this happening.
It’s not that you want to go to the Courtesy to be solo, really. You want the companionship, in a sense, certainly as much as you want the food, which is going to come your way quickly and with no calorie spared. It’s just that when you’re alone at this diner, you want to pick your spot for conversation. Maybe the grill cook wants to tell you about her love of Canadian power trio Rush and her growing tattoo collection. That’s a good night, one to savor. But the guy with the slightly wild look and generally buzzed demeanor? Well, he’s the character you wish a silent “good luck” as you slide off your counter stool, walking into the cold, but still able to look inside at the living tableaux behind all that glass.
When you pause, you know. The Courtesy’s there for you, 24/7. But why would you be inside at any other time than this?
