Breakfast

I am a breakfast person, which is problematic, because I am not a morning person. Continual conflicts arise when I order breakfast too late in restaurants and get turned away because they are no longer serving breakfast. Life is hard enough, I think, without getting turned down at restaurants. This could be the ultimate rejection. Complicating this whole breakfast thing is finding a good breakfast because I have to eat at greasy spoons. No one makes a good breakfast like a good greasy spoon and no one makes a bad breakfast like a bad greasy spoon.

I was out and about this morning before the breakfast lock out so today I decided to try the Downtown Diner. What a breath of fresh air, if that term can be used in greasy spoon environments. I swaggered in and confidently assembled the public and spotted news sections from around the diner. I ordered eggs over easy, sausage links, whole wheat toast, and coffee. The middle aged waitress talked me into hash browns and suggested I try onions on top. Feeling devilish and confident being out so early I bit on the onions, too.

Now this was a great breakfast, wonderfully flavorful, hash browns were perfectly golden brown and tender inside, three big fat sausage link, eggs perfect. Even better was the local color. The cook was a short stocky elderly woman with a good appetite. She wore a light pink and white top that could have doubled for pajamas later on, purple sweat pants, black tennis shoes, topped off with a green and brown camouflage baseball cap. You could watch her through the pass through window and her lack of dentures were not always noticeable. But every now and then the unusually short distance between her chin and nose gave it away. Now and then she made waddling forays from the kitchen and would shoot colorful verbal barbs at the customers or sometimes at no one in specific. The phrasing would have been lippy or smart mouthed in a younger person but was charming and welcoming and natural coming from its source.

Throwing caution to the wind I asked the waitress if they cut their breakfast service off at any specific time of day. She said, “Oh no honey, we serve breakfast all day long.” Life could not have been more perfect. I found my greasy spoon to serve me a great tasting breakfast any time I darn pleased and free entertainment to boot. Being called honey didn’t hurt either.