Am I getting tired of french toast? You bet your life I am. But am I going to let that deter me from fighting this fight through to the final round? No, I am not.
The good news for all of you haters out there is that we are, indeed, quickly reaching said final round. According to my calculations, there are only three establishments within the vague geographic range that I've set for myself that I've yet to talk about - one of which I'll dispose of presently, and quite succinctly at that. The other two are Valley institutions that I've been needing to talk about anyway, and then we'll be done. And, as God is my witness, I'll never have to eat french toast again.
The Look Restaurant is itself something of a Valley institution. It's located just north of the entrance to Look Park, named after Frank Newhall Look, whose wife, Fannie, donated the land to the city of Northampton in his honor. Frank was the chief executive of the Prophylactic Brush Company from 1877 to 1911, and, before you all start tittering, you should know that the Prophylactic Brush Company was one of the first (if not the first) mass producers of plastic toothbrushes in the nation. They also made hair brushes and other brushy things. The company was bought by the Lambert Company in 1930, the same year Fannie donated the land for the park to honor her husband, and subsequently became a division of Standard Oil, as most things did at that time. The park itself is one of the loveliest around - there are walking and biking paths, a serene pond surrounded by groves of tall evergreens, a miniature train, and even a small zoo, though if you go there expecting giraffes and elephants you're going to be sorely disappointed (as I was). Similarly, if you go to Look Park without first obtaining a permit for your picnic, you're likely to be chucked into the pond. Ah well - we live in a society, after all, and societies have their rules. More pleasantly, the park also has an amphitheater and a summer concert series, whose performers this year have included Gordon Lightfoot, Joan Baez, and Tom Jones. It's not unusual, if you'll pardon my saying so, to wish you'd actually made it to see Tom Jones.
This is what the Look Park looks (excuse the pun) like:
The best thing about the Look Restaurant, which you spot as you drive along Route 9 past the park, is that, as you pass it, you can say, "Look! Restaurant!" In fact, you can say this every time you pass it, in the same exact way, to the same exact person, and it will always be funny. Trust me.
The least good thing about the Look Restaurant is that the interior looks like a hospital commissary. The pastel colors and fluorescent lights give the place a sickly, washed-out look, and this effect is only slightly overcome by the several pleasant pieces of art that hang on the walls, including one large, framed photograph of a serving of french toast.
"Aha!" I thought, as I spied this piece of vernacular art. "Any place that has a large, framed photograph of french toast hanging on its walls must have good french toast!"
On examining the photograph further, I noted that the toast in the picture appeared to be coated in lacquer. It was probably supposed to be butter, but this toast was far to glistening to be covered in actual butter, which, as we all know, seeps into french toast fairly quickly and doesn't exactly shimmer in the light of a flashbulb. Or maybe it was laminated. Whatever it was, it was very shiny, and I began to have my doubts.
I was also surprised to find that the Look Restaurant, despite its name, is, in fact, a diner. There's a long counter with stools, behind which the cooks do their thing amidst their cooking equipment, and there were some benches along the walls. The customers were of the sort typically found in the area's diners - elderly folks, families, casually dressed businessmen, the sorts of people Tracy Kidder, in Home Town, describes as natives, and whom I've been less charitably referring to as townies. Indeed, the Look Restaurant plays a considerable role in Kidder's book as the favorite dining establishment of Tommy, the cop who's the principal subject of the book.
That's how I know the Look Restaurant is a Valley institution.
In any case, the folks at the Look were certainly friendly. I had a brief conversation with an older gentleman sitting beside me about the economy (he wasn't optimistic), flipped through the morning's Daily Hampshire Gazette, which someone had kindly left on the counter for me, and noted that most of the folks in there clearly came by quite a bit - they knew the servers, and they knew one another. Indeed, so locals-down-at-the-diner was the place that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a presidential candidate, with entourage, sweep into the place and start shaking hands and taking pictures. If we had been in New Hampshire, I'm pretty sure that would have happened.
As for the french toast, it was not bad. It certainly could have been a lot worse - at least it wasn't coated in poisonous chemicals, like the one on the wall. They offered a choice of white, wheat, cinnamon raisin, or banana bread, as well as real maple syrup for an extra $1.50. I went with the wheat, with the real maple syrup. The slices were nice and thick, cooked just right with a thin, crisp crust on both sides, and the syrup gave it plenty of sweetness to make up for the absence of powdered sugar. In all, it was probably the best diner french toast I've had in the area.
Which isn't saying much, but it is saying something.
Look! French toast!
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