Back in the '70s I used to go to an iconic Italian joint on University Drive called Mario the Baker. When I was in high school band, packs of us would descend on the place after football games or band concerts and devour pizza after pizza, pitchers of Coke, and dozens of the greatest garlic rolls known to man — the kind that leave you reeking for days afterward. The place was as basic as could be — red and white checked plastic tablecloths over rickety tables, all the acoustics of a body shop, scarred but spotless linoleum floors — and there was one rule: cash only.

Mario's is still around, and I am fortunate enough to live near the original in North Miami. I don't go often, as I think my delicate biology would explode if I indulged in all that garlicky, cheesy goodness on a regular basis, but when I do it is as though I am still sixteen years old with a trombone case in the trunk of the car. Nothing ever seems to change at Mario's, in fact, I suspect the same people are still waiting the tables there as were wiping up tomato sauce thirty years ago. (It's almost like an X-file.) Hell, the place even burned out, and they rebuilt it just like it used to be, nothing modernized at all.

But now something has changed. It used to be that I would inevitably pull into the parking lot and slap my forehead when I remembered that I didn't have any cash. To the best of my knowledge, Mario's was one of the few sit-down restaurants left around here that wouldn't take credit cards. But Saturday night, immediately after remarking that I forgot to get cash, damn it, I saw the familiar logos on the door. Inside, a hand-lettered sign proudly proclaimed that major credit cards are now accepted, for my convenience.

So yes, times change, even at Mario's. But if everything there changes at this rate, the next few generations will still be ordering garlic rolls and pepperoni pizza by the ton. And probably from the same waitresses.