The Attraction of Contradiction

There’s a restaurant/cafe in Clarksville, NY called Jake Moon.

Jake Moon

It doesn’t look like much.

The drive takes you into the hills area of upstate NY, with great expanses of farm land - and people call grocery runs, “going into town.”

The parking lot is a gravel pit. It’s usually littered with old pick-ups and the occasional odd piece of furniture. There’s a shed sticking out somewhere in the background.

Old siding and creaky wood boards lure you to (or deter you from) the front door. There’s very little signage or lights, besides the dim lamp in the foyer, and a single sheet of paper posted against the window, proclaiming their H.o.O.

The inside is simple and rustic, with hardwood benches and chairs. An eclectic collection of pictures and knick knacks decorate the walls, but everything is very clean.

The food is amazing.

Everything made fresh and to order, with locally produced vegetables - even the maple syrup. The bread is baked in-house, along with the marmalades and jams. (The stuffed French toast is the best French toast I’ve ever had.)

Half the reason I enjoy this restaurant so much (and enjoy telling others) is because of the contradiction between the outside décor and the quality of food once you sit down.

What makes contradiction so attractive?

It captures our attention. Our minds tell us it should be “X,” due to our social conditioning, our upbringing, our prejudices and biases. But everything our senses tell us: what we see, hear, smell, feel, point out it’s actually “Z.”

If I go to a nice restaurant, where the reputation of the food and décor is stellar, but the service is awful, that’s going to stick out in my mind the most.

Contradictions capture our attention (negatively or positively) in ways nothing else can.

What’s a more powerful message? “Oh, that’s fantastic!” when that’s your expectation?

Or “Oh, that’s fantastic!” when you expect it to be anything but?

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