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Memories of Machias:
'Helen's Pancakes Looked Like Dinner Platters'

Visiting Maine in the 1950s and 1960s as a child, a Down East reader shares memories of Helen's Restaurant and why he returns to Maine with his wife and children.

    What could be better than driving through the early morning fog along US Route 1, watching the ghostly images of houses, harbors, tidal inlets and wildlife come and go in the mist. For me, what was better, when I was a child, was pulling off the road with my family in Machias to pay a visit to Helen's Restaurant.

    It was still at its old location in downtown Machias back in the '50s and '60s when our family would make the annual trek to Nova Scotia from Connecticut to visit relatives. We would usually get up before the crack of dawn at some campground or motel, with my Dad insisting we "hit the road" quickly. He would never say so, but I knew it wasn't just to get an early start. Dad always wanted to stop at Helen's for breakfast.

    I remember seeing logging trucks pulled up to the curb on the dark, early-morning street outside of Helen's, and the warm air and aromas that would burst out at you when you would open the door. Most of the customers were local loggers, farmers and fishermen grabbing a last hot coffee before starting their day. When the Maine Central Railroad still ran through town, you'd even see a railroader or two making a morning breakfast stop on their run to Calais or back to Bangor.

    I suppose we stood out like typical tourists, but no one ever seemed to pay much attention. No matter. All that was on my mind was a stack of huge blueberry pancakes and strips of smoky bacon. As a kid, Helen's pancakes looked like dinner platters, with blueberries looking like big, blue marbles. Dad & Mom would get eggs, toast, bacon, coffee and blueberry muffins. And we'd sit toward the back window of the restaurant that looked out over the tidal inlet. I remember marveling at tiny baitfish jumping in the water and gulls dive-bombing for their own watery breakfast.

    Soon enough, we would be done with our meal and maybe we'd get some coffee or hot chocolate to go. With the sun coming up, we'd be on the road, passing the small Maine Central Depot at the edge of town, sometimes with an old diesel locomotive idling and waiting for its crew to return from breakfast. And I would be sitting in the back seat of Dad's '57 Chevy wagon peering through a fog that was beginning to lift and still feeling a belly full of warm pancakes.

    I've been to Helen's since they moved to their new location, stopping with my own wife and kids so they could share the experience. The food was still great, but I wish they could have been to the old place: what my Dad would fondly call "an old hole in the wall," but a place that had character and is still memorable when I close my eyes.

Stu Nicholson lives in Columbus, Ohio. Downeast.com welcomes essays and poems for Maine & Me. Email stories and photos to lcostigan@downeast.com.