One of the best parts of a diner. If the waitress or waiter (but it’s most often a waitress) doesn’t stop by every ten or fifteen minutes with a pot of coffee, asking, “Ya need a fillup?” it’s not a diner. I don’t know what non-coffee drinkers do, because I’ve never been left with less than half a cup of coffee in a diner.
I just wish that there was more to a diner breakfast than “two eggs, any style, and _____,” and omelettes. Problem is, that I cannot eat eggs scrambled, easy over, sunny side up, poached, fried, in an omelette, etc., etc., etc., and I wish diners would stop pushing eggs for breakfast. Obviously, my diner breakfast options are limited. Thankfully, most diners can do a BLT, even if it’s not on the menu, which is one of my breakfast go-tos, pancakes being the other.
That’s why I call a BLT and fries “the breakfast of champions.” Plenty of coffee, a large glass of OJ, a BLT, home fries or french fries, and coffee brought out every ten or fifteen, and that’s the way to start a day.
It’s a dilemma, isn’t it? Up to my early 50s, I placed great importance on serving sizes when eating out. If I was served anything less than “a little too much,” I’d consider it a defect and might not go back to the establishment. In recent years, I’ve realized that I have to change my ideas about eating. I guess it’s as obvious as it is natural, but I sure didn’t see that one coming.
Nowadays, I can’t even watch something like Man v. Food (a TV show). It’s just obscene!
God, if I wasn’t older and overweight already, it’d be time to schedule an Alb food vacation. Maybe squeeze in an upscale visit to Antiquity while I was at it.
And (true to my younger roots) a green chili cheeseburger chaser at Blakes!
While Blake’s Lotaburger isn’t a diner by most definitions, it shares a lot of heritage with them, complete with still having back-killing round stools at the older locations.
And of all the places I miss in NM (plenty) Lotaburger is the only one that periodically shows up in my dreams, to the tune that one somehow just opened up in town, and how did I miss it?
I’d trade all 5 Whataburger locations in town (minimal loss, but I do have some good memories of them as the best place for food at 1am) for just one Blake’s dammit!
Between the effects of aging, and trying to keep my weight down while largely inactive, I can’t eat that much anymore. Even when I’m hungry enough I’m not used to it, my body tells me it’s full even if I want more. I still include serving size in my opinion of a restaurant, but rarely am I dissatisfied from insufficient volume of food anymore. I’ve been looking at newer Cajun seafood place in town. My wife and I split a single take-out combo plate of crab, shrimp, and mussels to try it out and it might have been just enough for the two of us except that it was really good so we both wanted more. Going back with friends in a couple of weeks and I’m already thinking I’ll want more than I can eat. I’m a guy who ate a whole sushi boat by myself. The staff applauded when I was done. It was like 12 years ago and I’m still a a celebrity at that place. I’ll never be able to pack it away like that again.
I used to be an Eggs Benedict guy until I learned what good Hollandaise sauce tastes like. The stuff at diners tends not to compare. Now, it’s corned beef hash and eggs, for the simple reason that I never make that at home.
And while it isn’t very common in many places, every once in a while I run across a Chili Verde omelet, which, if done right, is fantastic.
And when I’m on the east coast, I want to follow my meal with an egg cream.
Back in the late 50s/early 60s on our way to Ohio, we stopped at one of my dad’s old army buddies’ place in NM. I can still remember the chicken enchilada “casserole” the wife made. Now, I know it’s stacked enchiladas! I’ve never been able to quite recapture the way hers tasted. Maybe I can find a recipe now.
Oh, and I always prefer to eat my chili burgers/dogs with my hands. I’d never think of eating one with a knife and fork…there’s too much chili otherwise. Proportions way off. Why not just get a bowl of chili?
I was in the same boat for many years; my mom’s scrambled eggs weren’t good, and that put me off eggs for a long time. When I’d go to a breakfast restaurant, it meant that I was usually ordering pancakes or French toast, or, later, things like biscuits and gravy or chicken-fried steak.
In the last 15 years or so, I’ve decided that I like omelets, so that’s become my go-to diner breakfast item.
My frustration in this regard has to do with decades of refining cooking skills, learning what foods don’t agree with me, collecting and perfecting recipes, etc., and now having to learn to stop making such a big deal about food.
On the other hand, it’s extremely satisfying to eat light without feeling hunger until the next meal, along with the other benefits of sensible eating: springier step, deeper sleep, no more heartburn, etc.
Well, my usual go-to for breakfast is pancakes or French toast, or my most favourite, a BLT and home fries. No eggs, ever.
We had this discussion here a few years ago. On an early-morning flight between Toronto and Vancouver, I was offered the choice of scrambled eggs or an omelette, nothing else. Note that this was back in the 1990s, when meals were expected, not offered at extra cost.
“Aw, forget the eggs and the omelette,” I said. “The fruit looks nice, and the muffin, and so on. Just give me that. And coffee and juice.”
“Why no eggs, sir?”
I used my backup to being unable to eat eggs, “I’m allergic. Just take the eggs off the tray; I can eat everything else.” Which I was perfectly capable of, even with eggs on the tray. I thought I was being nice, giving eggs to somebody who might have liked them. Apparently, the airline thought otherwise.
You would have thought I was introducing bubonic plague onto the plane. I got nothing. Nothing. Did I say nothing? Nobody brought me anything, and when I tried to get the flight attendants’ attention, I was ignored. Oh, and did I say nothing?
Flight attendants avoiding me like the plague (excuse the pun). My seatmates got meals; I did not. Only a half-hour after the last meal had been cleared, did I even get a lousy cup of coffee, and that in a styrofoam cup, not the nice plastic ones that other passengers had. Black, of course, because cream and sugar might … oh, forget that; I have plenty of profanity I can use, but I won’t.
Christ, just take the fucking omelette or scrambled eggs off the tray, and I’m fine with everything else. Listen to me, willya? I know my health better than you!
That was on Canadian Airlines, and I did get in touch with them about that, and they apologized profusely. But they never made good, never changed their breakfast menus, and after they were subsumed into Air Canada, they didn’t either. I learned to order the omelette, ignore the omelette, eat every thing else, and when the flight attendant asks, “Did you not like the omelette, sir?” answer “No,” and leave it at that.
At least, give me a fucking cup of coffee. It’s a five-hour flight, and you’re giving me nothing, not even coffee. And when you do, it’s only after I’ve complained for two hours. Damn right I’m going to complain. And I expect better than a styrofoam cup.
