"Hail! Hail! The gang's all heeere! What the heck do we care? What the heck do we care?" I smile thinking about where I've heard that tune so many times over the years--comfortably ensconced in a vinyl booth at Crechale's (3107 U.S. Highway 80 W., 601-355-1840), taking in the jukebox, the furniture that looks as if it's been there for decades (and probably has), the recessed red-neon lighting along the ceiling. I'd like to say I've tried most everything on the menu, but I usually order the stuffed flounder or stuffed shrimp. I just can't get past those two items. They are too consistently good for me to stray.

Nothing about this little Jackson restaurant is average. The perfect baked potato exists, and you will find it right here. I've been tempted to drink the comeback dressing straight from the bottle rather than wait politely for the salad to arrive at the table. The staff never meets a stranger here. These people know their restaurant, their food and their customer base.

Drive east from Crechale's, take the State Street exit and meander downtown to Capitol Street for two more venerable Jackson fixtures: the Elite Restaurant (141 E. Capitol St., 601-352-5606) and the Mayflower Cafe (123 W. Capitol St., 601-355-4122). The Elite is dear to my heart for the hamburger steak smothered in onions, the enchiladas and the rolls. When I was working in an office in my college days, we'd sometimes make a trip to the Elite. We'd get there by 11 a.m. If we got there later, we risked blowing our entire lunch hour waiting for a table. It was just that busy.

Let me paint you a picture: Walk through the door, and you're immediately confronted with emerald-green vinyl booths bordering the walls, aging waitresses in black polyester whipping out the entrees and dinner rolls and a pleasant gentleman who quietly escorts you to a booth or table, whichever is available. I've always loved the green vinyl booths. Everything is informal and comfortably worn. It has changed little since my college days; I'm delighted that the booths are still green.

I adore the Mayflower, too. She's walking distance from the Elite. This restaurant is also bereft of contemporary decor. The paint is flaking on the sign out front as it should be.

The Mayflower, too, boasts a comeback dressing that is drinkable from the bottle. I've only eaten here on a few occasions; if I ate here more often, I'd weigh a lot more. The food is simple and well prepared. There is no frou-frou. The stuffed flounder is memorable--as good as any I've had on the Coast. In fact, Mayflower's specialty is seafood. People don't come for the decor or the atmosphere; they come to eat. The staff greets everyone warmly, and the service is impeccable. I am planning another trip soon. It's been too long.

What is it about these old staid fixtures that keep sucking us in? A negative word uttered against these places in our presence can provoke a fight. For me, it's about continuity in a world that seems to be getting crazier and less consistent with each passing day. Politicians let me down on a regular basis. The stock market tanks at inopportune times. Conflicts arise at home and overseas. I've seen my purchasing power dwindle. Many of us wonder if our jobs will fall victim to layoffs in this volatile economy. Yet, I'm comforted by the idea that the same restaurants I've enjoyed since I was old enough to drive are still standing and still serving the same dishes, prepared the same way they've always prepared them.

Though I've only named three restaurants, there are so many more old restaurants I love. The Cherokee Inn (1410 Old Square Road, 601-362-6388) serves a burger worth singing for. Primos Cafe and Bake Shop (2323 Lakeland Drive, Flowood, 601-936-3398; 515 Lake Harbor Drive, Ridgeland, 601-898-3600) is still turning out covetable caramel cakes and petit fours in its current locations. I could go on and on.

I'll always try a new restaurant, but eventually, I'll go home to my favorite old places. They're the old friends who warmly welcome me back, no matter how long I've been away.

I came of age inside the walls of those staid institutions, perusing the menus for the house specials, exchanging pleasantries with wait staff who could put me to shame with their multitasking skills. In a surreal world, where so many bow in homage to transience, these restaurants--some with peeling paint and fading vinyl--demand that we give the past our nod of respect. In return, they gift us with a sense of history and permanence.