I woke up way too early-2:30 to be exact. Grabbing my glasses, socks, and bathrobe I padded quietly down stairs so as not to awaken the tsunami of male animals on the bed. Of course there is always one that follows, tonight the cat. Sometimes when I have these nocturnal jolts I pad to another bedroom seeking a different quiet or temperature. There are times when my book is whispering come hither. Tonight my Toshi was calling. I felt the need to tap on his keys and stare at his 17” screen.
I yearned for coffee but noise echoes in the house. I wanted to write some recipes and transcribe some notes I had made for said blog but left the notebook in the bedroom. To re-enter might disturb the NSSP. So I went to plan B. Cleaning up e-mails, puzzles and wasting time. I grabbed my camera, filled with pictures of a future crab dish and as I went to plug it in a niggling thought occurred.
Specifically an east coast early morning diner breakfast, no- my memory delved deeper and I was 20 something again on a different coast eating salami and eggs with potato pancakes and apple sauce at the now defunct Deli Haus, a German greasy spoon in Kenmore Square. It was an amazing place with a huge menu, huge portions, and dark stained wood, perfection.
Then my memory was on to the breakfasts at IHOP in Brookline. For a whopping $3.49! “3 Farm fresh eggs, any style, 3 links of sausage, & 3 pancakes”. Don’t forget the endless pot of generic coffee and the speed rack of syrups (my favorite was the now extinct apricot syrup).
My mind did flit back to NJ diner breakfasts. These were the end of the night variety. A quick infusion of sobering food before bed. Served by a bored waitress to a carousing crowd of kids. Ah, and what about dunkin’ doughnuts with coffee “regular”- sugar and ½ & 1/2 added for you. There’s a snack to set you jangling!
The smart scones and granola of the ‘70’s hold a small memory candle to the marvelous and timeless breakfasts of my past but the Coffee Connection with its intense Harvard Square cliental and the avant-garde French Press pots remind me of splurging on a Sunday NYT to fit in.
Its 4:30 and I can’t wait any longer for my coffee noise be damned!