Filling Vacuums

Dearest Rachel –

It’s said that the shopping mall is one of America’s major contributions to civilization, right alongside baseball, hamburgers and the internet. But while there’s certainly something to be said for having a collection of shops all in a single (albeit large and labyrinthine) place, such locales appear to be dying out in their supposed home country, while I can vouch for the fact that they are thriving overseas (although perhaps there’s something to be said to America’s credit that it can export its ideas and have them take root that much stronger elsewhere – the master being exceeded by its students, if you will). To be sure, some of the devastation was caused by overexpansion – and the subsequent collapse generated by the real estate crash a decade or so ago – while the pandemic did them no favors either, at least here in the States.

I will posit, however, that an older species, the strip mall, is that much more distinctly American, and has had the ability to survive, and perhaps even thrive, in an environment in which their more glamourous, under-one-roof cousins have struggled. Contrasted against the uniquely Japanese concept of the shopping arcade, which can be a miles-long (okay, kilometers-long; sheesh) walking experience, the strip mall is a one-sided version of this, with a parking lot opposite the storefronts to accommodate those who have driven from far and wide to shop at its various outlets, whether the big boxy anchor or the little storefront boutiques. This provision makes it particularly adaptable to the wide-open spaces of suburban and rural America, which make up more of the country than the tightly-packed big cities. And while I couldn’t give actual figures as to rent costs and the like, they give off a bargain-basement vibe that suggests that it’s a cheaper proposition for businesses to rent a location in one of them than in one of the glitzier malls, so it’s easier to start up in one of these places.

And while, especially with the destruction wrought to such businesses by the pandemic, there have been a number of closings in these places over the last few years, it would seem that commerce, like nature, abhors a vacuum, and there are new small businesses rising up to fill the storefronts so emptied by their brethren.

I mention all this to introduce a story of visiting several places yesterday that, to the best of my knowledge, didn’t exist in your time. You might, however, recognize the locations themselves – as well as the places they’ve become, as something not unlike what had been there back in the day.

All of this is within a couple of miles from home, either across from or on the fringes of what we’ve long since referred to as “the triangle”; that section of commercial property bounded by Golf, Algonquin and Wilke Roads. Yes, for all that I just claimed that the strip mall is ideal for the wide-open spaces of suburbia and rural America, I’m talking about a place that, technically, we could walk to – although I wouldn’t recommend doing so in the August heat we’re now sweltering in the midst of. Which is weird, because this trek all started with my developing a hankering for soup.

Specifically, ramen; and not the sort you get from the Walmart in the middle of this geometric monstrosity, where you pour hot water into a polystyrene cup for some quick, cheap nourishment (although, the more I hear about it, the more that term is debatably applied to such stuff). No, I was thinking about the thicker broth, laden with ingredients that you generally only get at a Japanese restaurant geared to such offerings. Fortunately, there is a place across the street from there, between Lowe’s and Goodwill, that offers just that – or so I thought.

The location actually used to be a different Japanese restaurant, and I think the two of us had a date night there once (or maybe the three of us went there; I forget, but I’m sure we were there at least once. It’s possible that I’m confused about the circumstances because we visited twice, but I can’t confirm anything at the moment), but the place we went to no longer exists. I don’t even know when it disappeared, which rather suggests that it happened during the pandemic, since who was paying attention to places they weren’t going to at that time? So many places could have dried up and blown away then and, not being regulars there, we wouldn’t have given them a moment’s thought.

But I’d been seeing signs for this place – called RamenUSA, of all things – and, after a short day in the folks’ basement, where it’s surprisingly cold in comparison to the outdoors, I was thinking a bowl of the stuff would hit the spot. After texting Daniel about the idea – as getting his assent – we made our plans to head out there.

Unfortunately – and for the second time in about a month – we arrived to find the place closed, and not just due to odd open hours. Evidently, they were having issues with their kitchen, and were closed for the remainder of the month. Not quite the same situation as the Filipino place we attempted to visit near the end of July (that was a planned vacation on the part of the owners), but it was the same result, as far as we were concerned.

What were we to do? Well, as it so happened, as we were en route to the place, we spotted where the curry place the three of us used to go to every now and again had been. This was another restaurant location that had suffered from rapid turnover in the past – were I more superstitious, I might suggest that the particular storefront was cursed somehow – but would always see a new establishment eventually, as there is seemingly an endless line of would-be restauranteurs who think they can make the place work, especially given the exposure of so much traffic passing by. Indeed, the last few months had seen a flurry of activity, as a new sushi place – with the fixed-price, all-you-can-eat format of another failed venture nearby (which, I might add, has since been replaced by a Mexican place that Daniel still wants us to check out at some point) – has been planning to open. This time, however, their sign was lit, and so, we decided to take the opportunity to check it out, in lieu of a hot bowl of ramen.

Ironically, when we wandered in, we were informed that the place was also closed, as it had lunch hours that ended at three, and dinner hours that would not begin until four-thirty. After we looked at each other, wondering how we would kill the next forty minutes (we really didn’t have anything to shop for at Walmart, most of the other outbuildings surrounding it were other restaurants, and in any event, I’d already told you about it being deep in the sweltering August mid-afternoon), the hostess took pity on us, and set us up at a table; as long as we were willing to pay the dinner price, and didn’t order too much until the place really opened up, we were welcomed as customers.

And while this hadn’t been what I was hoping for in terms of a light meal in any sense of the term, it was a fine experience. They even had a number of non-fish options for Daniel to enjoy (although he didn’t bother with the shiitake mushroom roll, for whatever reason. Eh, his loss). Meanwhile, considering that they had an offer for a fourth person’s meal being on the house, this seemed like a place to take note of to bring the gang out to at some point in the future.

So, yeah, we basically found ourselves at various places that didn’t exist when you were here, but wouldn’t be unfamiliar to you if you had been with us to visit them. Not sure how you would have reacted to the ramen place being closed, but if it hadn’t been your idea, perhaps you wouldn’t have gotten to the point of having your heart set on the stuff. And besides, it’s all Japanese in the end right? So all’s well that ends well. The vacuums are filled, both in terms of the storefronts and our bellies, and life can go on.

Still, if you could see your way clear to keep an eye on us regardless, and wish us luck, it’d be appreciated. After all, we’ll probably still need it.