Pass-A-Grille.
Straight down Interstate 275 through St. Petersburg, follow the Bradenton signs for a while until you take a right onto Pinellas Bayway. This takes you through the toll, over the metal lifting bridge, past the boys fishing off the piers, across the causeway due west towards the Gulf of Mexico. Unmistakably, ahead of you the Don CeSar Beach Resort dominates the skyline. The Pink Palace built in the Twenties, allegedly with rum running money, was used as a hospital for wounded airmen in the war and now, restored to its glory, is the swankiest joint south of the Carolinas. Even Bill Clinton stayed here once.
Most of the traffic turns right up Gulf Boulevard and cruises the St Pete Beach coastline with its art deco motels, beach houses and marinas all the way up through Treasure Island, John's Pass, Madeira Beach, Reddington Shores, Indian Rocks and north to Clearwater. Turn left at the Don however and drive south under its grand entrance-way bridge. Here the road is narrower, the palm trees taller and the pace of life slower. Each house is built in its own style, often out of wooden siding, with wrought iron porches, exterior wooden stairways and columns. Each year another seems to appear but looks as if it has always been there Two gleaming red and silver fire trucks poke their noses out of the spotless fire-station. A fireman in yellow waders waves. You pass the boatyard, Linda's hairdressing salon and Circle K at the only traffic light. Here you have a choice. Straight on, following the east shore of Pass A Grille past the fishing keys with their perching pelicans, and round the tip of the peninsula. Or turn right at any street past the lights, and you're heading the two hundred yards straight toward the dunes. There are no buildings taller than three stories here. Mostly they are two. Gulf Boulevard here is wide and empty and lazy. A dog could sleep all day on the double yellow centreline unmolested. You cruise south, you are slowing down all the time. Houses for rent and small motels nestle amidst the palms to your left. To your right , the sun-bleached yellow lines of empty parking bays sprawl diagonal to the road, red flags doze in the meters. Beyond rise gentle dunes, tall waving fronds of flowering grass sprouting from their tops. Every hundred yards or so, there is a walkover made of worn timber with solid square handrails. And beyond that... white sand stretching to left and right, warm blue water and the sun slowly heading west in a big hazy blue sky.
Three or four cars and a van are parked together ahead of you. There is a cafe on the beach here. It's the only building on the beach for about a mile south of the Don. You pull into an empty parking bay and switch off. If you'd taken the east route round past the Island's End resort cottages and turned north, you'd have met yourself coming back about here. Pass A Grille has two restaurants, a Post Office and the Ice Cream Garden where you can eat huge Butterscotch Chocolate Cookie cones and sit on a plastic seat on the sidewalk under an awning and watch the world., such as it is, go by. Today it's someone rollerblading in slow motion down the centreline.
One storey high, with a wide sweeping roof tiled in grey slate it seems to provide everything for the beach. Outside at the back hang the wind chimes tinkling happily next to the racks of swimsuits and inflatable beach toys. To the side on the left are the toilets and a wide patio, on the southern edge of which stands a wonderful stainless steel shower with high pressure jets at head and foot height. Someone here thought the beach experience through . In front of the cafe on a wide terrace stand a dozen bleached trestle tables with wide alternating pink and green sun umbrellas. The front side of the cafe is the serving hatch, leaning on which is Eldon "Metz" Metzger, his grey hair slicked back, a grin on his face and a finger missing on his left hand."How are you today", he enquiries making me feel I've known him all my life. "Can I get you some coffee? It's hot. I know because I just dipped my good finger in it." Immediately I warm to this bear of a man. I order the coffee and some Pepsi for my kids who are by now running into the sea twenty yards in front of the terrace. " Would you mind giving me some change please." I hand him a ten dollar bill. In return I get all the change in quarters. "That's very kind of you", I say. " No it's just good for business", Metz replies. I look askance. "You see if I give you the change in quarters, you'll stay here longer and spend more money with me." And there it is, in a nutshell. The American Way. Forward planning, no shame about making money and public service into the bargain. For all the unhelpful shopkeepers in the world, here's how it works. Metz makes sure he has plenty of quarters by getting them from the bank every morning. He gets them deliberately because he knows it increases his sales traffic, as well as making people on holiday feel they've got one less hassle. In England for example, I suspect a similar request would be met with a tiresome quip like 'We have an arrangement with the bank. We don't give change and they don't sell tea.' Or 'Please don't ask for change as a punch in the mouth often offends'. Such vision, we have.
I sit down at one of the trestle tables and am suddenly, instantly on holiday. I've spent weeks over the years now, sitting at these tables. Cares and worries fall from your shoulders, run down your back, trickle down your legs and dissolve in puddles on the floor. This place feels like home. "It's the kind of place we always wanted to find when we were travelling", says Lois. "Help yourself to another coffee over there on the hatch." So there you sit and drink coffee or Pepsi with endless free refills, although most people I saw actually asked to pay for them. You watch the pelicans skimming low over the waves. Watch the waves tumbling in. Hear the children laughing splashing in and out of the surf. And you think about the wonderful smells coming out of the kitchen.
Like her husband, Lois Metzger is retired. " I was in personnel for fourteen years. I just like people, I guess." They'd been coming to St. Petersburg from their home in West Virginia since 1982 and after Metz's construction firm had finished building its tenth shopping mall they decided to retire here. " But you know how it is. You start eating into your savings. And we couldn't just sit by the pool and get wrinkly". They kept coming down to Pass A Grille and watching the cafe. Nothing was happening with it. Very little custom. " You're just looking at it and you know it could be great if you could get your hands on it." Lois had run a soup and sandwich shop and an ice cream parlour back home so this didn't seem like such a giant step. They couldn't buy it however as it is owned by the City of St. Petersburg Beach, so they got together with their lawyer, worked out a business plan and in 1991 put in a bid. Three weeks later they were invited to talk to the City Manager about a lease. And two weeks after that, moved in with an aunt , an uncle and a daughter as staff. " The operation is run at the minimum. We have less staff but our food costs are high. 45 per cent of our bill goes on the food. We use Black Angus beef, eight ounce grouper, corn oil for frying. Everything is fresh. If in doubt, throw it out. " Sensibly they engaged a proper chef and also realised pretty soon that they'd need a larger grille as lines were soon reaching across the patio to the edge of the sea. They streamlined the operation and got it running at a smooth flow. The idea of leaving your name with the order was Lois's idea and works perfectly as a way to put everyone on friendly first name terms. All eyes turned to watch my eldest daughter walk to the food pick-up point as " Kateee" crackled out over the Tannoy.
The Sunday morning brunch crowd is a good example of the informality of the Seaside Grille. Swimming
trunks and a T shirt make a great disguise. " My doctor eats here and brings his family," chipped in Metz, " I can count seven others here too. " We have a German couple who come here every year and stay at the Don. They tell their friends, " if you want a good breakfast, go down to the Seaside Grille." "I tell them to walk ", adds Metz, "because you'll need to walk it off." As we talk, Lois keeps being interrupted by customers and friends coming up and chatting to her about somewhere she had recommended or what they were doing for the up coming Taste at Pass A Grille Festival. It seems the whole beach world revolves around them. One lady said to me " they're the only place on the beach and they don't take advantage of it.". Metz puts it more simply, "People find us eventually."
Of course it's not all plain sailing. Running an establishment which by law must be open 365 days a year, in most weathers, dealing with Joe Public who isn't always Mr. Niceguy can be a problem. I ask if they'd had any major headaches. " Not really. Pass A Grille is virtually crime free. Someone took one of the trestles down to the sea one night and we had one break-in, but there's no money left here at night anyway." A customer once angrily demanded that his food be delivered to him from the hatch, all of ten feet away. "How did you deal with that, one Metz," I ask. " I took his food over and told him not to bother bringing the plate back." Then there is the red tide once a year which deposits dead fish down the beach, twenty seven days of rain in three months last summer and the construction that goes on every year repairing the streets. It's not easy to break even. "Every year it costs us. But where would we be without it? it's become our lives."
Surprisingly then, the Seaside Grille is now in danger of closure. The trouble seems to be the lease which is due for renewal June 96, and competitive bids have to be in by October 6th this year. As a first response, a vast concertina of computer print-out paper sits on the counter. It is filled with furiously drawn signatures underscoring glowing comments from the customers. " We've got a hundred more sheets of it at home," adds Lois. They intend to submit it with the new bid package. "We haven't called any politicians. We're not going to do that." The bid will succeed or fail on it's own merits, it seems.
Metz wanders off to see about some lights for his stand at the Festival. Lois is greeting a long lost customer with warm hugs. I sit gazing at the pelicans skimming over the languid surf. The sun turns gold and begins to drop through the pink clouds off towards New Orleans. It's getting near closing time. Lois comes up to say goodbye. "Can I get you some more coffee. Metz isn't here to put his finger in it, so I'll have to get you some fresh." "Thank you Lois. That'll be just perfect."
Written for Floridian, The St. Petersburg Times.
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