Iron pans, rubber spatulas, canned cook-oils, stained-towels, and stove-top knobs everything jostled, sprayed, scraped and adjusted, as the legendary Omelet Lady presides over her terrain. Home-cooked magic, with its savory mouth-watering powers, awakens the morning air surrounding a 4’3’’ fireplug of a woman. It is 8 a.m. on Tuesday morning. Omelet Lady cheerfully and efficiently rattles the pans in Boston University’s Warren Towers Dining Hall, turning out golden, crisped creations.
Cecilia Lopez has a cult-like following of students, all of who endearingly and exclusively call her: the Omelet Lady. In addition to her illustrious fame, Cecilia stands out because her most beloved qualities have bloomed despite a life of hardship. Cecilia Lopez embodies the role of a karmic mother, as she feeds both body and soul of her dining hall surrogates. She thrives in this role—feeling fulfilled, not only as the iconic Omelet Lady serving up food, but as the maternal one serving up good, old-fashioned advice. It is in her nature. Although many nurture, Cecilia genuinely strives to improve others’ lives; she transfers positive energy, bettering her life and the lives of those around her.
The events of her own life are a whirlwind of sadness and heartache; her life could have easily turned sour. Instead, the adversity she has overcome is only a piece of her character; every day Cecilia prevails, making an impact on hundreds of people. The majority pencil her into their routines. They find comfort in her presence. But they remain blissfully unaware of their giver’s own painful childhood. Perhaps it is because, holistically, Cecilia is a beacon of life, bottle of cheerful.
She places the freshly made eggs under a hot lamp, covering them with plate-lids, and motioning the ‘owner’ back to claim it. Many diners appreciate her maternal warmth; but most are unaware of her other karmic children. Collectively, they know nothing of her blood-related daughter, Vanessa.
Lauren Acker sees herself as Cecilia’s daughter; she wakes up at 8.30 a.m. for her omelet, even though her first class doesn’t start until 10. Acker laughs, “Omelet Lady is like my mom away from home: she makes sure I eat healthy in the morning.” One Thursday morning Lauren drove her family straight from the airport to breakfast with her. She explained her reason as twofold: “One, I never have missed a breakfast with Omelet Lady, and [two] I desperately wanted to introduce my mom to my new second mom!”
Cecilia explains how she often goes grocery shopping with her daughter Vanessa: “ I go to supermarket where I live--Everett. It is a family there. I want to make same here.” As the Lopez mother-daughter pair shops, a warm greeting ensues. Cecilia appreciates the welcoming employees. Perhaps every establishment should have an extra thoughtful and friendly employee: one exceptionally good egg. Yet it seems the connections that Cecilia welds with her regulars are far more nurturing than the eggs she serves. “No one else is as caring as Omelet Lady,” chirps Esteban Yepez, a Boston University student and avid egg-lover, “when I oversleep she makes my omelet ahead of time, so I don’t miss the 9 o’clock cut off.”
It is like being accepted into a big family: first, you need to meet the matriarch. Cecilia sits at the head of a huge network of diners; they are all connected by their relationship with Omelet Lady. Jason Kaplan, a shy bookish guy, elucidates the sheer power of her presence: “If you know Omelet Lady, you automatically have a dozen dinning hall friends.” Kaplan recalls the time he met a fellow regular on the elevator: “we were both rushing to get to the Egg-Bar. Bam! I had a friend.” Sometimes, it is as simple as waiting for the omelets to cook. While standing near the outskirts of her station, a friendly exchange sparks a companionship.
It’s the same every morning: I watch blurry eyed, coffee in hand, my mind full of fragmented thoughts. I start to place my order of egg-whites. But, looking down I see them already sitting in the pan; Omelet Lady sprinkles in onions and peppers, smiling. Her charm is contagious. She cooks with genuine care, striking up conversations with a natural grace, as though English is her language and America, not El Salvador, her country. Besides being the figurehead of the unconventional family she orchestrates, Cecilia remains each diner’s companion.
“Is this good? You no like cheese, Right?” Cecilia memorizes each order, but builds in opportunities for daily amendments. For my order it is always the addition of cheese. Despite being the shortest person in the entire cafeteria, her energy enlarges her presence to that of a towering figure, encapsulated behind her station. The glass framing soon disappears: it melts as students peer in to converse with Cecilia, which she loves. “I learn English from you and you learn to no stress from me.” Her words slip out with a minor struggle, camouflaged by the inviting smile spread across her face.
As another student bellies up to her Egg-Bar, she nods and ladles egg beaters; she tosses bacon and cheese into the pan and slides it down to the end of her griddle. “You all Set” is how she often finishes these exchanges with ‘regulars’ – those she takes special care of – vigilant of both the omelets and their owners.
Cecilia tells of Chris, a boy who is usually perky, but one day was dragging. She offered sentiments in a commanding tone that appear oddly soothing: “sleep” and “no stress.” They are broken orders that—Chris told me while knifing his breakfast into a scrambled mess—restructured his whole perspective. It was an exchange that began when she asked him how his Physics test went. The test was exhausting. But rather than ‘crash’ in his dorm, he headed straight to the dining hall to see the lady who completes his day. As the cruel and stressful world of adulthood looms, it helps to rekindle the feeling of childhood safety. Cecilia represents this warm connection: it is as though Chris time-travels to the days spent as a toddler, lazily dangling his feet over a kitchen-chair.
However, Cecilia values determination; she cites education as both an impressive and important pursuit—one that was unavailable to her. Cecilia only has a 7th grade education: it was halted when she was sent, alone, to clean her uncle’s house in Texas—forced to leave her native El Salvador. America was not the land of opportunities for her, rather a place away from danger. Her vulnerability as a young woman in a corrupt country caused her to be transplanted to a foreign soil without her family: “My mother, she worried. The guns and people in groups with power could do whatever they like: bust door, break in, and take girl. If they want it, they do it.”
Rather than be paralyzed by the authoritative tone of the drug cartels, she applied their doctrine optimistically to her own life, turning it into a mantra chanting independence: if she wants it, she does it. On whether she wishes she completed school, Cecilia says, “I don’t know. My point is I’m happy.” She motions with her hands to indicate a ‘so then’ type of gesture, “people happy. I think I have a good life.”
She sought, for example, to recreate the plantation atmosphere that disintegrated when her father unexpectedly died. Cecilia saves her wages, splitting the amassed funds between her home in Everett – “with trees, tomato and orange, a horse and cows” – and a Chilex, a snack-shop in El Salvador with “beer, fried dough and beef.” Chilex’s small size, like its founder, does not stop it from achieving impressive success. Cecilia’s mother and brother now run the shop: it is their livelihood, crafted by a girl thought to be a risk, rather than an aid, just a decade ago. Cecilia’s daughter, Vanessa is also fiercely independent; she also lives in America. And the two make sparse trips to El Salvador.
Though many students relish in having Omelet Lady as a surrogate mom, she is actually acting as more of a karmic mother figure. In her eyes, the role of mother is reserved solely for her only daughter, Vanessa. “I do a good job,” she beams. Vanessa is two years away from graduating with a business degree at MIT. Cecilia worries constantly, and like most maternal figures, offers up a heaping spoonful of typical mom advice to both Vanessa and the diners: stay in a group, accept no strange drinks and never break curfew.
She looks at the hordes of BU students, shuffling in and out, as opportunities to inspire karmic goodness. Chances to brighten the day of a student feeling the kind of academic pressure she imagines Vanessa experiences. “Your parents are not here; you study too much, some have a few friends. It is good to see a good face.” Her motivation behind memorizing students—both their faces and orders is clear. Cecilia has the “good face” she speaks of. Her checks are flushed from the 3-hour-straight shift of cooking, long shiny black hair pulled tight in a ponytail; she has the most attentive and expressive eyes that, whenever she cannot find all the words, fill the conversation gaps gracefully.
Typical conversation is so upbeat that one ca not help but see the world as Cecilia does. When asked about her favorite day without hesitation, she throws up her hands and says, “Today!”
Her fellow employees are grateful Cecilia cleans up her station and always offers to help them tidy theirs. Her friend Jesus got her the job 18 years ago; everyone agrees it was to their benefit since her strong work ethic and positivity “keeps the place afloat when we are swamped, and makes for pleasant slower days,” Mike, a grill worker, remarks. Cecilia explains that the Howard Johnson she used to work at demanded more: 14 rooms turned over within the hour. The transition to cooking was a pleasant surprise.
No one expected the one-time housekeeping maid to rein for a lifetime Lady who keeps a watchful eye over a slew of her students. Her joy is apparent, but its catalyst a mystery. Omelet Lady is openhanded, yet enigmatic. Maybe it is in the eyes: exacting in their focus. Maybe it is in her elaborate gestures: the buzzing energy. When students visit their beloved Omelet Lady, they become bemused as though under a potent spell. Many regulars become uncomfortable when they realize her importance to them and yet their lack of knowledge about her. Some off-handedly cite why they re-arrange their schedules to see her: their fear of disappointing her, the vision of their omelet simmering in a pan, unclaimed.
But some regulars acknowledge the power of their connection—it is the bonds that keep the lines curving around her station. As she cracks an egg, its yellow bleeds into all the surrounding white. Just as Omelet Lady’s golden glow surges into the bland, depleted energy that pervades a morning at a college dinning hall. While Cecilia’s role as an egg-cracker fails to distinguish her, Omelet Lady’s status as a mind reader does. But Cecilia Lopez, the Omelet Lady, does not read minds, she atunes herself to others. Listening attentively is her dharma, her duty. There are two types of people in this world: givers and takers.
While it is clear Cecilia Lopez is a giver, what she gives feels somehow undefinable: love, advice, nurturing, a listening ear, a big smile, a damn good omelet! Cecilia is easier to describe through her qualities, she is fearless, sympathetic and despite being self-sufficient, she maintains a deep faith in the power of community.
Cecilia views life as an adventure: “every single day is good.” I watch her wipe the table clean and, as though she is clearing the slate, she looks up: I believe her mantra. On this morning, I sit down to eggs with her. I decide to take her advice: she adds cheese to my omelet. United, we start our day together.
