The Varsity | Whattaya Have?

Whattaya have? The Varsity catered lunch at work last week. The Varsity truck was parked in the side parking lot and tables were set up in the meeting room, along with barrels of soft drinks and bottled water. Some of the guys went through the line two or three times. I was sensible and stuck to my usual order, two chili dogs, a chili steak, rings and a Coke. As great as it is, two or three helpings of Varsity food is just asking for trouble, if you know what I mean.

If ever there was an Atlanta institution, it is The Varsity. The restaurant turned ninety years old last summer. That spans at least three generations. The first time I remember eating there was when I was seven or eight years old. My father and I were in his green Willys station wagon. We ate curbside and Flossie Mae waited on us. Flossie Mae wore a floppy Carmen Miranda hat and he would sing and dance the menu. My parents met in New Orleans while my father was stationed there in the Navy. He took my mother to The Varsity the first time he brought her to Atlanta. The carhops were named as such because in the days of big fenders and running boards, they would run out and hop onto a car turning into the lot. My father had a ’47 Mercury Coupe and when the carhop jumped on the running board, it scared my mother out of her wits. She thought they were being carjacked.

The Varsity is junk food elevated to its highest form. You either love it or you don’t. Most of those who don’t aren’t from around here. I used to work with a guy from New York that hated The Varsity, but would rave about how great White Castle was. He was also a Mets fan and voted for Al Gore, so that pretty much explains everything. I’ve never eaten at a White Castle, but I’ve seen their hamburgers in the frozen section at the grocery store. They look just like a Krystal. I refuse to even discuss Krystal. I’m pretty sure you will never see Varsity food in the frozen section of the grocery store.

My late wife Marie was a Brit and she loved The Varsity. Of course, she lived in Atlanta for thirty-five years so she was, for all intents and purposes, from around here. Strangely enough, her parents liked it too. That’s really not too surprising. I used to tell them I thought all English cuisine was based on a dare.

Our first Christmas together, Jackie and I went to Atlantic Station. There was a non-denominational service and a snow machine. The next night, Christmas Night, it snowed for real, the first and only white Christmas I have ever experienced in a lifetime of living in Atlanta. After the service, we were trying to decide where to go to eat. “Do you want to go to The Varsity?” she asked. “Are they even open?” I replied. “Well,” she said in her infinite wisdom, “there’s only one way to find out.” Not only was it open, it was packed. Families were having parties and opening presents. We sat in one of the TV rooms and were both wearing our Santa hats. A little girl in the booth in front of us turned, looked at Jackie and her eyes lit up like sparklers. “Look, Mommy!” she exclaimed to her mother. “It’s Mrs. Claus!” When wearing her Santa hat, Jackie does indeed make a beautiful Mrs. Claus. The little girl stared at Jackie. “Have you been a good little girl?” Mrs. Claus asked her. “Uh, huh,” smiled the child.  “Well, when you go to bed tonight, tell your Mommy to please leave Mrs. Claus cookies and Kahlua,” said Mrs. Claus.  “Okay,” said the little girl.  She stared and smiled at Mrs. Claus the rest of the evening. There was no Kahlua by the fireplace the next morning, so either the little girl forgot to tell her Mommy or Mrs. Claus had been very naughty.

The Varsity has since become a Christmas Eve tradition for us. We go there every year and a couple of times took Maggie, our whippet. We would eat curbside and get her a naked steak. If you don’t know what a naked steak is, Google it. The entire dictionary of Varsity Lingo is available online. Maggie is no longer with us, but we still take her in her little urn to The Varsity on Christmas Eve. We thought about getting a naked steak for her but decided against it. You never know who or what you might see at The Varsity, but Santa and Mrs. Claus eating onion rings with a doggie urn on the table and a naked steak in front of it might look a little strange, even in downtown Atlanta.

The most crowded I have ever seen The Varsity was in early December of 2014. We took Jackie’s nephew to the Christmas Reindog Parade at Atlanta Botanical Gardens and to The Varsity for lunch, as was our custom. It was also the day of the SEC Championship game between Alabama and Missouri. The line was backed up all the way to the front door. As we were waiting, a Varsity employee was making her way through the crowd carrying three salads. I had never seen a salad at The Varsity. I didn’t know salad was an option at The Varsity. The closest thing I had ever seen to a salad at The Varsity was the cole slaw on top of a slaw dog. “Does anybody ever actually order one of those?” I asked her. She laughed and said, “You’d be surprised.” I shook my head in disbelief. I love salads, but it is beyond my realm of comprehension to order a salad at The Varsity. If it’s not a dog, a steak, rings, an FO or a fried pie, it’s not The Varsity. I’m sorry, but that’s how I feel. “Whattaya have?”