The Daily Special

The Natural Connection

When I was a medical student, I lived in a small agricultural community in northern California that was blessed with only one restaurant. The owner/chef did not see any purpose in spending money on printing menus, or confusing customers with too many options. Each day he carefully printed what he was serving on a small chalkboard labeled “The Daily Special”, and placed it on the sidewalk by his front door.

Everyone knew that it was a waste of energy to request anything but The Daily Special. If the chalkboard read “Beef Stew with Onions” and you ordered quiche and salad, he would grunt and nod his head and then go to the kitchen. When he came back to your table, he brought you a bowl of Beef Stew, and you’d better say “Thank You” and smile, or the next time he wouldn’t wait on you at all.

I always thought his business style was a bit odd, until he explained to me one day that every morning he prepared the best that he had for his customers, and offered it as The Daily Special. Everybody who walked by his restaurant clearly knew what it was. If you didn’t want to eat The Special, he didn’t see why you even bothered to come at all.

Actually, by the time I was in medical school, I was no stranger to the concept of The Daily Special. I always thought that my mother had invented it. In my family the Eleventh Commandment was “Thou shall be home for supper every evening with the family. No excuses.” Every night, my mother served seven people her version of The Daily Special. I don’t know how she did it. If I serve my husband, two cats, a dog, and myself I’m exhausted for a week.

Like the chef’s chalkboard, our family rules were simple, and understood by everyone. What was served was what you ate, or you went hungry. There was not time or money to cater to seven separate appetites. (It’s hard to believe that there really was a day when every street corner in every little town was not occupied by a fast food or take-out franchise and parents and children actually sat down and ate together in this country.)

As the serving bowls were passed around the table, oldest to youngest, sometimes I, or one of my sisters would wrinkle our nose. Maybe we didn’t feel like eating peas and carrots, or meatloaf with tomato sauce that evening. “Fine”, my dad would say, as he passed the food to the next child. “More for the rest of us.” We didn’t pass up too many of mom’s Daily Specials.

The anniversary of September 11 has got me thinking a lot about The Daily Special. I think about what we lost and what we gained as a nation from this terrible tragedy. The loss of life and hopes of the 3,031 murder victims and their families is perhaps a little more obvious to us than what we have gained. I would like to think that much of our nation has gained a renewed appreciation of America’s Daily Special.

Our Daily Special is Freedom. That’s what we serve up in America every day. It’s the big item on the chalkboard. Freedom to gather together with our families and communities to worship, study, play, eat, work, and receive health care without fear. Freedom to argue, peacefully dissent, write Letters to the Editor, and freedom to vote. Freedom to march to a different drum, an out-of-tune drum, or even march in silence if that’s our choice. Or sometimes to just sit at the beach, enjoying the sunrise and not march at all.

And for those folks who happen not to like it that way, we should say, “Fine. Move over. More for the rest of us.”

9/4/02