M and T are in town this
weekend to see Sam, who is turning 23.
It’s a quick in and out visit. I
get a call this morning, “If we can find a parking space, let’s have
breakfast.”
Within an hour, M and T are
here and we are seated at a local diner, Gracie Mews.
The place is packed. I am starved.
M orders appropriately — an egg white omelet, without the accompanying
bread and potatoes. Conversely, I order
challah French toast with bacon. And I
wonder why it’s so hard to lose a few pounds!
Alexander and I used to come
here often. We even had a favorite
grumpy waiter who left the diner when they remodeled (and hiked prices) a few years ago. He knew our orders before we placed
them. When Alexander was about three, he
ordered something similar to my order today.
Then and now, he prefers his food unadorned. He still eats burgers without ketchup. That day at Gracie Mews, when asked what he
wanted for breakfast, Alexander replied, “French toast without the French.” Remembering that long-ago order still makes
me smile.
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