I’ve mentioned Luby’s here before, not that long ago, within the context of my identity as a diner and restaurant critic. Back on June 15, I wrote,
Shopping trips to Tyler [it might have been Lufkin], which had a mall, included a very special treat: lunch at Luby’s, where I always ordered the square fish, which came with an enormous glob of tartar sauce, and a side of mac and cheese and fried okra [it was probably green beans]. For dessert, I’d get the little bowl of jewel-toned Jell-O, which had been cut into perfect squares and danced under the cafeteria lights as I carried my tray to our family’s table.
Anyone who grew up in Texas probably has profound sense memories of Luby’s. The cafeteria trays still warm from the dishwasher. The silverware rolled up in those thick industrial napkins. The luxurious drag of the plush wheeled chairs on the carpeted floors. The tinkling rustle of the iced-tea cart, wheeled around the expansive dining room by a woman (always a woman) who (mostly) cheerfully hands out sweating glasses of iced tea, water, and soda.
So, you might have felt a collective shudder in the Force last week when it was announced that Luby’s would be liquidating its assets and dissolving the company. Those of us who for whom Luby’s is part of their childhood landscape were suddenly suffused with pained nostalgia as we reckoned with the fact that yet another once-beloved icon would soon be extinct.
I asked my Facebook friends about their Luby’s experiences growing up, and we all share similar memories built around family rituals:
Luby’s was our go to fancy meal after church on Sundays. The LuAnn platter, liver and onions, and those deviled eggs bring back memories of my childhood.
A childhood staple, especially during Lent. Fried fish, tater sauce on the side, fried okra, button mushrooms, yeast roll, two jalapeños, the biggest slice of whatever kind of pie, and half and half iced tea, that was my jam.
The biggest indulgence was to go down the line at Luby’s and be allowed to get whatever and as many dishes as one wants.
A common theme among the responses I got was that people my age (so, GenXers) associate Luby’s most closely with their grandparents.
More often than not, it was with my grandparents while on some errand during the summer.
My grandpa used to take me there and we’d stack our bowls once we were finished and it was such a great time with him. My dad and I go, and now my dad takes his grandkids there.
I was sent to spend a week with my Grandmother in Fort Worth every summer....she’d take me to Luby’s and let me order WHATEVER I WANTED even if it was ONLY fried okra and two kinds of pie. Luby’s was def a highlight of those trips.
We always went to Luby’s with grandparents when we were sleeping over at their house. Usually cousins were there, too, so I have very strong family memories attached to Luby’s. Just always going there with my grandparents, and feeling loved when we went. It was always comforting and delicious, and the ritual never changed. It was the constant.
This squares with my experience, as those shopping trips to Lufkin/Tyler were always with my maternal grandparents (and great-grandmother). I don’t think I’ve ever experienced Luby’s outside the context of my grandparents.
I saw a social media post not too long ago (and I’m kicking myself for not bookmarking it) in which the person worried that once she stops making her relative’s recipe for a favorite dish, that no one would remember that relative. The practice of making that dish helps to keep the ancestor alive. This is why we preserve our family cookbooks and traditions—to remain connected with those who’ve made their peace with this world and moved on.
My grandmother died two summers ago, and I miss her terribly. My grandmother was not a great cook, but she was hospitable. If we were at her house, meals were served like clockwork, and she had lunch planned out before the final bite of breakfast had cleared the fork. The minute dinner was over, she would list the dessert options. If we were out and about, we were going to go to "the fish place” (David Beard’s Catfish King, home of the tube-shaped hush puppies) or Luby’s, depending on where we were. You did not go hungry in Mama’s presence.
Despite my husband’s claims that we have taken the kids to Luby’s, I’m fairly sure we haven’t. A combination of snobbery and a thriving local restaurant scene has kept us from introducing them to the wonders of warm trays and cubed jell-o. I actually can’t think of a good reason why not to treat these kids to Luby’s, except that the pandemic has rendered those sensory memories out of reach. In a fit of nostalgia, I ordered a fish platter via DoorDash.
I was pleasantly surprised that the food showed up hot and fresh and DELICIOUS. The portions were generous, and that yeast roll was just as soft and pillowy and yummy as I remember. And for $10.50, this was a great value. I ate half of everything (except the roll, which I ate all of in about four bites) and was perfectly satisfied. As I think about it now, I’m humbled by how much I enjoyed this meal, which I would have sniffed at a few weeks ago about having come off a Sysco truck (and thereby beneath my consideration). It may not be hand-crafted by Escoffier-trained chefs, or sourced from local farms, but it’s the food of my people, and I shouldn’t be ashamed of that.
Last week, Luby’s sent out the following tweet:
So, for right now, it seems as though the reports of Luby’s death have been greatly exaggerated. But it’s highly likely that I’ll be treating the kids to some square fish sooner rather than later, even if it has to be eaten from a styrofoam (ugh) container at our dining room table. Maybe we’ll FaceTime with my grandfather while we do so.
Related reading:
Thank you for capturing my exact feelings on this topic <3