Sunny Side Up
Doctors always say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. But whenever my schedule gets hectic, it's the first thing I forgo. However, I was driving down Douglas Ave. one morning, devil-may-care, and I suddenly spotted it. The billboard, like a sign from the Big Doctor in the Sky written expressly for me, read: "Legs & Eggs: Start your day with a good, healthy breakfast."
Compelled by hunger pangs, I knew I had to do as the sign suggested. But I couldn't do it alone. A few frantic phone calls later, I convened with dear chums M. and J., and our minds raced. Would we henceforth need to squeeze the meal into every jam-packed day? Must we lose an hour of beauty sleep to make room for this new extravagance? And were they serving frog legs or chicken legs here? Only time would tell.
Upon entering, a gracious hostess in an adorable little ticket-taker booth – just like at the cinema! – surprised us with good news. The aforementioned good, healthy breakfast was a $7 all-you-can-eat buffet. What a steal! And then, as an added bonus, she gave us each a token to operate a turnstile and enter the restaurant. How quaint! It was just like the London tube. Mind the gap!
It was a bit dark inside, but we found our way to a cozy red velvet booth by the light of a disco ball. Now I'm not on the market myself, but I must report that a single gal in this place would find herself sufficiently outnumbered by semi-attractive single men. At least, they acted like they were single. For the ladies whose predilections run towards the seafaring, there was also a whole table full of salty sailors – or were they fishermen? Either way, they were mighty friendly. And fragrant.
Shortly after settling into our booth, a waitress approached wearing a perfectly darling uniform. None of us had ever seen such a charming polka-dot bustier. Very French, very avant-garde. You know the French. They have an acute appreciation for the female form. I promptly ordered a Bloody Mary.
The waitress patiently explained the buffet procedure – "pick up a plate in the back and load up" – and warned against the eggs, which she suspected of being devoid of any relationship to poultry. But they certainly looked yellow and fluffy, and the version scrambled with ham, cheese, and parsley went down as easy as a Perry Como concert. The full spread included bagels, donuts, pastries, cereal, French toast, sausage, bacon, hash, and ham. The fresh fruit salad was a tasty mix of melons, strawberries, and grapes. And the hash browns were delicious, fried to a crisp and perfectly cubed. Our waitress suggested that they had been deep fried at least five times, and J. suggested it might have been in tanning oil. But they tasted like little squares of heaven!
With my appetite sated, I finally had a chance to appreciate the live entertainment. I always enjoy a good dinner theatre, but breakfast theatre is a whole new world. In a phrase, it is light on plot, heavy on drama. I can't be sure, but I think the play had something to do with a Turkish bath-house. Or maybe it was just French. At one point, a fedora-clad dame strode out onstage and sashayed her way through one of my favorite numbers, the Cab Calloway song "Minnie the Moocher." There was nothing mini about her, but she did seem quite gifted at mooching greenbacks.
The music was a tad loud for the early morning hour, but it certainly kept us awake. It was also not my exact taste, but probably picked to aid digestion. Every once in a while, a velvety-voiced radio announcer cut the music to introduce a performer: a practical measure, since there was no traditional paper program.
In general, I couldn't help but notice that all the performers seemed to be on very familiar, nay, intimate, terms with their audience. But really, why not start the day with a bit of genuine camaraderie? It certainly adds zing to the usual routine of avoiding eye contact with strangers. Once M. returned from the rest room – which she advised against visiting at all costs, though I can't recall why - we all agreed to establish "Legs & Eggs" as a new tradition. We could stand to spice up our schedules, to pepper our lives with a bit of pizazz. And since the breakfast special turned out to be a Fridays only affair, there seemed little danger of it becoming a scheduling snafu.
Upon leaving for work, I had two nagging thoughts. First, why were J. and M. staying for lunch? And second, might not a better name for this breakfast special be "Tits & Grits"? It has a bit more of a ring to it. But then I recalled that they didn't serve grits.
