November 2020
Every town should have a Lynora’s. The modest, Italian-style restaurant housed in a converted two-bay gas station sits tucked between a store that sells raw honey and another that sells lamps, and across from a take-out Chinese shop. With only a handful of outdoor tables on the former gas pump platform, Lynora’s serves mostly take-out, and the covid restrictions have led to a boom in business. They offer everything from fancy focaccia and burrata to humble homemade meatballs and spaghetti and it is all reliably delicious. They have been a part of the local community in Palm Beach going on 50 years now. Though the food is the draw, what I find most interesting about Lynora’s are the people. Young and old, black, white, brown and everyone in between. Alice at the cash register takes payment with the efficiency of a toll collector on the Triborough Bridge. The kids who wait tables and run orders hustle in a well-choreographed scrimmage. No special request is denied. I once heard someone order ketchup on his pizza instead of tomato sauce. Whatever the meal, it isn’t complete without the legendary coconut cream cake for dessert. Lynora’s has become our Sunday night ritual. By 9:00pm the pizza ovens start to cool down and the staff stack the metal chairs inside the pull-down garage doors. The lamp store parking lot empties of customers’ cars. The outdoor lights are dimmed to let travelers on South Dixie Highway know that Lynora’s is closing soon—last order please. The long chains that lower the garage doors are summoned. Time to think about tomorrow’s specials.
