D  e  s  e  r  t     E  x  p  o  s  u  r  e     May 2005

Food for Thought

Watching a slice of America go by at the mall food court.

By Jeff Berg

Never a fan of shopping malls, I have actively avoided them in the past, except for my years spent as a mail carrier. Deemed what was then called a "flexible schedule" carrier, I had the luxury (for me) of doing any route that was open due to vacation or sick leave. The mall route in Missoula, Mont., was considered a "cake" route, and the regular carrier was not afraid to use his vacation time or sick leave. Hence, I became a semi-regular at the place for business reasons.

Since then, however, spending time in places that are built for little more than spending money has had no appeal to me.

But life in Las Cruces sometimes requires a trip to the Mesilla Valley Mall, so when that occurs it becomes time to make the best of a rather unpleasant chore.

Malls have food courts. Shapeless, generic and noisy, food courts usually offer a large amount of shapeless and generic foods, which could in turn be noisy later in the day, depending on what you eat. They are a reflection of what our society is moving closer to each day—quick and plastic.

One day, about a year ago, due to an incurable addiction, for the first time, I found myself sucked into the food court at the Mesilla Valley Mall.

Attending some sorry movie at the nearby four-screened shapeless generic cinema (it's also noisy, since so many patrons are unable to shut up during a movie) and needing to stop at Barnes and Noble, a trip through the food court was the easiest path from point A to point B&N. I looked up, and there it was—Sbarro Italian Eatery.

One must realize that a pizza addiction is hard to tend to. Most of the "best" pizza places that are responsible for this addiction are nowhere near here, or out of business. Giansanti's in Casper, Wyo., Red Pies Over Montana in Missoula, Charlotte's, Papa Joe's and Home Run Inn, all located in the Chicago area, and more recently Pizza My Heart in Santa Cruz, Calif., mostly had one thing in common: Except for Red Pies, they all served pizza that was the kind that ran a tattoo trail of oil down your arm as you lifted each delightful slice to your no-longer-slumbering pie-hole. This oil, or maybe it was grease, who cares, then pooled in the crook of your arm, requiring several napkins to sop it up, or, on a good day, you could dab a piece of bread in it as a belated appetizer.

Well, my addiction wouldn't wait, and in the food court a fix was a mere 50 feet away. Should I sacrifice my snobbish attitude about eating in malls to have a quick fix or not?

As I eyed the pies, I gave nary a thought to the location or ambience of where I was. I ordered two cheese slices, and sat down with my dubious treasure.

Well, it turns out that Sbarro's pizza isn't half bad. In fact, and best of all, sometimes it is almost good enough to form that little reflecting pool in the crook of my arm.

Sbarro's itself is part of a nationwide chain of Italian food eateries, most of which are perched in similar mall-type locations, but they also have an outlet in the Pentagon. (Hmmm. People-watching headquarters. . .)

Although Sbarro's could use a bit of remodeling, the food and service remain consistent, and it doesn't hurt that a previous employee had given me a 20 percent discount card. So I have begun to feed my addiction, not to mention my face, on a more or less regular basis.

During my current visits, I am usually greeted and waited on by Sarah, a pleasant woman with a shock of striking red hair. We share a gentle banter, and then it is time for the show to start.

The entertainment at the food court is unparalleled. Since I now usually make weekly forays to the place, I have become an observer of our society as it is reflected in the great American food court.

It is almost sad to go there at times. The food court seems to attract a lot of other regulars. Some of course are mall employees, but others are certainly not.

Among them are two older women who have been there every single time that I have been there. Sometimes they are eating, sometimes they are not. But usually they are just there.

"They are here every day," Sarah at Sbarro's tells me. "Mostly they just stare at us. I think that they feel safe here. You know, like the mall walkers. They (the walkers) come here because they are safe."

There are many young couples, all with at least one kid in tow. They always look so young, perhaps too young to have the responsibility of a child, while others that look the same age are at the mall because they just ditched a class.

Apparel du jour still includes a lot of backward baseball caps (what IS the point of that, anyway?), midriff-revealing shirts (waiter, there is bellybutton lint in my soup!), low-cut jeans (just say no to crack) and tattoos. Geez, are there the tattoos. I must be one of the few people in the mall who hasn't faced the needle at one time or another.

And for a change, the government reports are correct: Obesity in this country is a problem. A lot of girth passes in front of my inquisitive gaze as I, well, eat calorie-packed pizza.

It is also curious to eyeball what is called the "Mesilla Valley Mall Creative Center," which amounts to a long blackboard across from the Sbarro location. Words of wisdom, taunts and the scribbling of the bored are shared momentarily, until one of the security guards comes by to make sure that there is nothing offensive on the board. I note that she keeps erasing my "for a good time call. . ." notices.

Young women wobble by on hopelessly high heels. Gaggles of young men, testosterone-laden, clomp by, sharing their knowledge of four-letter words.

Several of the stores nearby seem doomed—in particular a nearby women's shoe store—because in spite of the traffic, I never see anyone patronizing them.

Other mall visitors sit at the cheap little tables and chairs scattered throughout the food court, dining on such acid-reflux-inducing treats as corndogs, orders of fries or fast Asian food. One of the oddest things is that there is not a single place to get a burrito in the whole place.

After a half an hour, I am always overcome with mild claustrophobia, mesmerized by the tinny mall music, and exhausted by the artificial atmosphere.

I'm not sure why mall culture has become a way of life for so many people. Even Sbarro's Sarah has wrinkled her nose when speaking about having to work in the mall every day.

Maybe it is just because people do feel safer in such a controlled and sterile environment. But I can't help thinking what they are sacrificing by spending so much time in a mall.

Not a place to live, just a place to be.

Frequent contributor Jeff Berg hangs out in Las Cruces.


More Tumbleweeds: Top 10

Return to top of page