TThe cafeteria in the State Legislative Building has been on my list of places to try since I started writing this column. It’s as hidden as a hidden gem can be – literally underground, in the basement of the marble fortress in Raleigh where the General Assembly meets.
But I delayed my visit because government institutions are shutting me down. I always feel like someone is telling me I’m in the wrong place.
And sure enough, as I approach the Legislative Building on a 30-degree afternoon to begin my long-delayed journey, I am turned away: There is a sign indicating that it is important to use the visitor entrance, but none of the doors I see appear to be such a door. One says MEMBERS AND EMPLOYEES. Another says JUST EXIT. A third door lists hours.
Trying not to panic, I search for the right entrance until I’m all the way on the opposite side of the building. Here I experience a quiet debate conducted through window signs. In a window: Abortion hurts women. A few steps further: PROTECT LEGAL AND SAFE ABORTION. Next window: a picture of a man’s fist touching a baby’s fist with the words NORTH CAROLINA STANDS FOR LIFE. These must be the offices of the legislators. I’m moving on.
My shirt is now completely soaked with sweat and I’m relieved that I didn’t dress too nicely. I was thinking back and forth about this this morning – the Legislative Building is a formal setting; A cafeteria is a casual atmosphere. Today is the hottest day in the world – and in the end we made up the difference with trousers and a cropped t-shirt. For a touch of Americana, I also added a belt with a large brass bull head buckle.
As I turn a corner, I find myself back where I started. I’m surprised there aren’t more people there. It’s supposedly a momentous day here in the Legislative Building: The General Assembly is expected to pass the budget it was supposed to pass a year ago. I expected a lot of activity. Instead, I only encountered one person, a man who was so busy taking off his jacket that I felt uncomfortable stopping him to ask for directions.
God, it’s hot. I look again at the text on the doors. Below the timesheet I see the word VISITOR in the same font as the hours.
I’m going in. Nine seconds later I set off the metal detector.
“Probably the belt,” a security guard says, eyeing my waist.
After leading me downstairs, the guard shows me the stairs that lead me to the dungeon where the cafeteria is located. I make a quick stop in the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. As I look up through wet eyelashes, I notice a sticker on the mirror: Don’t get an abortion. No, wait – I wipe my eyes – it says: YOU LOOK AMAZING.
Strengthened, I go down the stairs and into a parking garage. Each legislator’s license plate has their district number embossed on it, which seems kind of cute to me. Since I can’t see the cafeteria, I shuffle past the rows of cars until windows with warm light come into view. The feeling is that I died and now I’m in the underworld and I’m going to a restaurant. I enter.
I’m immediately judged by a fellow human being, a man in a suit who shows two people who appear to be interns around the salad bar.
“What are you getting? This is exciting!” He says to the interns, then points when he sees me.
“She’s not upset,” he says. “She looks at me like I’m weird.”
The exterior of the North Carolina State Legislature Building. Photo via Adobe Stock.
I smile nervously and grab a tray. The salad bar, a long stainless steel island, takes up most of the room. On the back wall there is a daily changing buffet with main courses and side dishes. Today’s offerings include chicken casserole, stuffed peppers, Brussels sprouts, sweet potato casserole and mashed potatoes. There’s also soup and cornbread, and shelves of cake slices at the end of the line.
Prices are insanely low: entrees are $5. Side dishes, soups and desserts range from $1 to $2.
I eat chicken casserole, Brussels sprouts, sweet potatoes, and beef soup, then stare at the slices of pie—there are at least six different flavors—until I hear a voice: “Take them all.”
My intrusive thought was spoken out loud by a kitchen worker on the other side of the shelf. We both giggle. He tells me to get the honey bun and points to a yellow layer cake laced with cinnamon.
The cash register is on the way out, so after filling up a cup of water at the soda fountain, I head straight to the dining room. No confusion about signage; A private area for lawmakers is clearly marked.
On the public side there is the homely atmosphere of an IHOP. I sit down on a two-decker deck and pull out my camera.
“Is this for Instagram?”
Another voice! This comes from a dapper gentleman in a checked jacket and glasses who is sitting at a table near me with two other people.
I tell him that I’m working on a newspaper article. He says I have to come back on Tuesday to try the fried chicken.
Desserts in the North Carolina State Legislature cafeteria. Photo by Lena Geller.
“What are you all doing here?” I ask the group, pointing to the ceiling.
“Shhhhh,” says the neatly dressed man, putting his finger to his lips. “Try the hamburger patties too. They do a good job.”
“The hamburger patties,” confirms the man sitting next to him and nods.
I turn to my tray. The food is so rich in provenance that I narrate my bites in the voice of the region each dish comes from. The chicken casserole, unmistakably made with cream of mushrooms, transports me to a potluck in Minnesota. Well, that is not half bad, I guess (high praise, in the Midwest). The Brussels sprouts, soft and slightly gray, remind me of a conversation I once had with Bill Smith of Crook’s Corner, during which Smith complained that no one cooks vegetables to death anymore. Honey, someone it still does here.
Speaking of honey, it’s time for some cake. Well, that’s what I’ll do. It’s a honey bun in its Sunday best.
As I eat, I eavesdrop on my three neighbors and try to figure out what their jobs are. Given the budget vote, I assume that there will inevitably be work.
That is not the case. They talk about food all the time: Old Bay sauce, Grands biscuits, how to cook eggs.
“Nice hot pan, olive oil, some butter,” the smartly dressed man says to his neighbors at the table and then turns to me: “Did you understand all that?”
Nobody else seems to be talking about politics within earshot either. At the tables around me, most people are talking about their plans for the Fourth of July, which is two days away.
I dig into my sweet potatoes. The elegant man gets up to leave.
“Young lady,” he calls to me again and stacks his plates. “You have to try the banana cake.”
I greet him.
A few minutes later I go to the exit myself and pay at the cash register. My total was $14.29 including tax and tip.
Back in the parking garage, I open my phone and see a wall of Slack notifications; The budget has been passed.
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