A shadow passed over the restaurant like an unexpected eclipse. The capacity crowd shifted their gaze toward the windows at the front to see if a winter storm was coming. Their eyes stopped, conversation paused in its thought, forks were held at attention, it was like an eighteen-wheeler had taken a wrong turn down a country road. A woman with a large party rippled the silence and mouthed "dirt woman" to all of her dining companions.

He stood that day like a mountain in the desert, highlighted by the glaring sun from Broad. In the foyer of the restaurant he looked marvelous, feet planted wide, no smile, knowing, intimidating. His posture absorbing, composed and still; he took in the sights and smells of the room. I gasped, forgetting, and we all gasped appreciating. He is one unimaginable specimen of a man. I felt like swooning, that man was having lunch with me.

On the outside he is a four hundred pound, semi-retired transvestite who commands space in the doorway like a pylon in the Chesapeake Bay. On the inside he is as susceptible to flavor and its insinuations as a thin man is to the wind. He was there that day to be the character 'Donnie Devours' and eat and drink and let us know, as only he can, what the man best known as Dirtwoman thinks of the food at Comfort.

We sat idly at the only remaining table in the house, an impersonal two top in the front window, and waited for our third, the other Liz, to arrive. The wait lasted for about twenty minutes while parties of six, eight and twenty finished their lunch around us. We had made a mistake deciding to come at 12:30. The table where we were waiting wouldn't do for eating since the direct sunlight magnified every hair and pore and bead of sweat on our faces. It was much too harsh. An available booth wouldn't do either, he said. Donnie needs space to breath and take in the aromas when he consumes, good things are worth waiting for and Donnie shouldn't be displeased.

The owner of Comfort, Chris Chandler served Donnie and I iced tea while we waited. The other owner, chef Jason Alley was cooking in the back. The drinks came in Ball jelly jars sweetened with a sugar elixir Chris had mixed by hand back at the bar. It wasn't too sweet or too bitter, half-filled with tiny Tic-Tac iced cubes, tea done by Southerners who know how to balance and temper the charm.

Liz arrived and broke the waiting spell with her keys jingling, phones ringing and wearing a producer's baseball cap. She looked straight off a movie set. The other Liz was our designated drinker and after a few moments went off to greet and shop talk with other movie people seated in the back.

When a table suitable for Donnie became available, we were seated and he was presented with the menu of the day. Liz told Chris she would be having three drinks to start, one lemon drop, an after dinner cordial and one beer. The lemon drop came first and served like a woman would drink it. It was in a cold, thin martini glass, the rim was sugared and garnished with fresh fruit. Liz was very pleased with being treated correctly and Donnie dabbled his fingers in the drink, licking the liquid off his finger tips, the gesture felt private and my stomach clenched like I had just watched two people kiss.

He was wearing a clean shirt when he started the first course, a relish tray. Relish is the appropriate word, since he relished the serving of marinated okra, pickled watermelon, carrots, celery and pickles. Trickles of the curry lime mayo dip cascaded down his front. "This is good, my mother makes this but it's not as good." He sopped the soaked rinds, spilling more of the dip across his stomach.

Our lunch immediately followed the appetizer. Donnie had the catfish he'd spotted earlier. I had the veggie sandwich and Liz had the meatloaf. I also ordered the squash casserole as a side. It came covered in a very light cheese sauce, warm, runny and buttery. It was perfect comfort food for the situation and calmed my slight nervousness. I submitted my plate to him so he could try the squash. He was pleased with the dish and hailed the waitress for an additional side bowl of the casserole.

Liz was up and down socializing, like it was midnight to her, oblivious to the man and meatloaf at the table. It was starting to get cold as it sat there served in three slices, each about the size of a playing card for the visually impaired and a half-inch thick. Flecks of yellow and red peppers, hints of ketchup all sprinkled in the 100% ground chuck. The owner said they kept it simple but treated the meatloaf the way it should be treated, like everything else so far.

Donnie made eye contact with me and said "This is very good," I sat perfectly still waiting for more from him, but that was enough. He finished her first slice then started on the second. Liz came back spilling some of a chilled Heffeweisen beer, cold, large and $3.50 a pint.

I never saw the catfish sandwich on Donnie's plate, I couldn't stop watching him eat. He inhaled it like a sea predator swimming with its mouth open. I watched the bright green steamed beans go down like the tails of mice in a boa. The fresh veggie sandwich came on whole wheat with a horseradish mayo that quieted the raw onions and brought distinctive flavor to a run of the mill sandwich. It's a really large sandwich and Donnie ate the second half. I should have ordered just the vegetable side dishes, it's what the restaurant is known for. They're huge, interesting and indicative of the southern food Comfort serves.

He put dollop after dollop of Liz's mashed potatoes in his mouth smirking like he was getting away with something. Liz came back to the table, and Donnie made a comment about her mashed potatoes being made from real potatoes.

They brought us fresh-squeezed lemon-limeades in jelly jars again while we paused between lunch courses. They were not too sweet, sour lemony or limey. They were perfect. Then they brought us banana pudding garnished with bouquets of banana slices with the sugar seared slightly. The sweet butter and light bananas made the dessert like no pudding Bill Cosby's ever had.

I had to go to the bar to smoke. Liz got up and joined me. She ordered a martini that came with three olives. There was some dispute over who in the restaurant made the best one. After trying one from the bartender and one from Chris the decision was called as a draw.

We looked back at Donnie who was calling for us to come back and help him finish the dessert. "He's like nobody you will ever meet in your life" she said. "He doesn't care what anybody thinks at all, ever. He is truly just Donnie. It's remarkable."

I had to run off as always and please 150 other people in the next few hours, so I got up to go. Liz was sitting waiting for some people to join her and ordered another round of drinks. Donnie's shirt and pants were splattered with lunch, he was quiet, the mountain sated and stained. I asked Donnie before leaving what he thought of the food at Comfort, he said "It was good. Very, very, very good."

Comfort is located at 200 West Broad, 780-0004.