Pleasures of the past live on in Palo Alto

By Christie Genochio

Sometimes, it's not enough to escape campus and flee elsewhere. Sometimes, it requires a trip else-when. And the hands-down best way to avoid academic worries and responsibilities is with an old-fashioned dinner-and-a-movie excursion to the Peninsula Fountain and Grill (also known as the Peninsula Creamery or "The Creamery") followed by a flick at the Stanford Theatre in downtown Palo Alto.

* Peninsula Creamery

At over 80 years old, the Peninsula Creamery at 566 Emerson St. -- just one block off of University Avenue -- now embodies all things 1950s, from its chrome-plated countertop to its red vinyl bar stools to the green leatherette chairs. The octogenarian diner is famed for its fountain treats, and at meal times is inevitably brim-full of salivating college students and hungry families who flock to this throwback for generously-portioned comfort foods and a cheery, "everybody knows your name" atmosphere.

A large neon clock with "Eat and Get Out" glowing around the face greets customers as they walk through the front door. For those undeterred by the timepiece, the kitchen launches an instant sensory assault. The aromatic evidence of grilling beef and boiling chowder commingles with the scents of freshly baked cakes and goodies wafting from the wee bakery in the corner.

Behind the buzz of conversation, laughter and Victor the coffee guy promising your cup of joe is coming right up are jukebox-supplied rock-and-roll tunes. People at the counter tap their toes to the tune as they read the list of daily specials mounted on the wall; Matt, a waiter slash Stanford grad student, engages customers in witty repartee as if he's financing his education on tips alone; a fedora-wearing professor pretends to scour a pile of essays but is distracted by a couple who appear to be sampling one another's shakes by kissing after every few sips.

Milkshakes are available in 21 flavors, ranging from the usual suspects to exotica like emerald isle, a Pepto-pink peppermint and peanut butter fudge. Served in small glasses, the rest of the blender arrives in a frosty steel tumbler. The treats are smooth and just the right consistency, but add-ons like semi-sweet chocolate or cookie bits are well-worth the extra price and the cheek-sucking vacuum action required to get the goods through the straw.

Enormous signs and posters festoon the walls, advertising Green River soda pop and Yoohoo, listing the day's selection of homemade pies and promoting "Giant Cookies" with a 3-foot in diameter picture of a chocolate chip cookie bearing the disclaimer: "Not actual size."

The paneled walls also boast several prints featuring cartoon cows, one of whom appears to be flipping beef patties on a grill, while another contentedly slurps a milkshake. This disturbing tribute to the bovines that put the cream in "The Creamery" and fill the fresh-baked hamburger buns speaks to the establishment's ironic, if not grotesque, sense of humor.

Though prices may be a tad steep, with shakes running at $4.95, cheeseburgers (sans a side of fries) at $6.95 and cheese ravioli priced at $11.25, the overall experience is, well, priceless.

For some reason, handing over the old Visa hurts a little less when you can reach into the glass canisters by the register and grab licorice whips, Dubble Bubble or Pez for a dime apiece. Besides, the attentive serving staff, well-executed food, authentic retro ambience and slogan "We make our wheat, white, hot dog buns, and hamburger buns in our bakery. FRESH! DAILY!" are simply irresistible.

And where and when else will you be able to make Stanford students run around to serve you?

* Stanford Theatre

Nestled not two minutes away from The Creamery, at 221 University Ave., reigns the Stanford Theatre, a movie palace devoted to yester-year and the days of cinematic yore.

Opened in 1925 and restored just over a decade ago by David Packard, son of the Hewlett-Packard magnate, the Stanford sneers at the likes of the AMC and Century chains and their up-to-the-minute technologies and blockbusters. Here, movie magic is meant to be whimsical and nostalgic, and in the interest of authenticity, this applies to the prices as well: tickets are only $3 for children and $6 for adults and a popcorn and soda won't cost you more than a couple of dollars and change. And keep in mind, it's cash only.

From the street, the theater unostentatiously greets passersby with a charming, vintage marquee and lit-up billboard announcing its current Old Hollywood features. The films change weekly and run in clusters grouped by stars or genres. They are screened in pairs on Fridays through Sundays and only for a few weeks at a time.

A typical series might feature Fred Astaire, Humphrey Bogart or either of the Hepburns. There are also festivals in honor of Film Noir, Westerns, musicals and even 3-D movies, and every Christmas means the faithful return of "It's a Wonderful Life."

Inside, the integrity of the theater's age supersedes modernization; Packard restored the place to its 1930s glory days with a mind to preservation, not progress.

In the foyer, the small snack counter sports king-sized candy bars and freshly popped popcorn. The register's ka-ching echoes off the vaulted ceiling, mirror-flanked walls and terra cotta tile floor.

Enormous classic film posters paper the walls, which are leant an antique, popcorn buttery hue by two wrought-iron candelabra-style chandeliers.

The best seats are just up the Persian-carpeted staircase on the mezzanine level. The amber glow of six chandeliers, hanging like ripe fruit from the coffered ceiling, illuminates the interior. Greek and Assyrian motifs frame the proscenium stage, which sits before 1,200 plush, red seats. Technicolor and texture envelop visitors, immersing them in another time and another place inaccessible by any other means.

A lush ruby-red curtain is draped in front of the screen and only when the lights are dimmed does it rise, revealing a diaphanous white sheath that is pulled aside as the opening credits roll. "Calamity Jane," (1953) starring Doris Day and Howard Keel, begins, and somewhere in the darkness is a group of old people singing along softly and chuckling over how well they remember it all.

The Stanford truly outdoes itself with its presentation of the unexpected. During intermissions and ending credits, a Wurlitzer rises out of the stage floor as an organ virtuoso plays along, whether it be "As Time Goes "It's full of romance, that old place," or so their motto goes. And if it's necessary to return to home to the present, with essays and exams awaiting, at least you can return humming a familiar old tune.

Contact Christie Genochio at (408) 551-1918 or mgenochio@scu.edu.