(photo by beki mcelvain.)
yeah, that's definitely rusty orange mirco-tile climbing the wall in the picture. less than five cash dollars equals pancakes, eggs and bacon in this most 1970's of diners. i tend to take myself on dates here sunday mornings, with oscar wilde or the new york times for company. the servers tease me about my capacity for coffee (i really can't stop once i start) and i secretly love that they know me in this crappy little gem. i typically sit in a window at one of the two-seater booths, but if i happen to be at the bar for breakfast, i get a direct view of the most meticulous cook on clement street fast at work. he's rumored to be on an outrageous 11 year contract, this henry ford of hashbrowns. and his perfectly portioned and positioned multi-tasking mastery of that flatgrill is an obvious testament to his worth. another reason to love the richmond district, i suppose.
who wants to go to breakfast with me?