Intersection: Ohio and LaSalle
Rating: 5/5
January 29th, 2010:
I am mildly ashamed of myself. I try to do this blog on a shoestring budget out of principle. This morning I splurged. Instead of the trusty CTA, I am in a cab at the moment weaving and speeding along Wacker. This cab driver is a driver. Chicago has too many passive cab drivers. This cabbie, however, makes me feel as if I am involved in shooting a chase sequence without even knowing it; weaving through traffic in such a way that would make Jason Statham sexually aroused. If I’m going to pay someone to drive me somewhere the CTA can take me than it better be an entertaining ride.
It is odd being awake this early. It’s 8am on a Friday. I do not have class on Fridays. I could be asleep right now. But alas, responsibility has won out over my lethargic tendencies. I have a doctor’s appointment today. So, I need to be awake. I also need to eat. I woke up famished. I am craving some greasy spoon and I’m headed to the greasiest, spooniest place of all time; The Ohio Coffee Shop. You can’t miss it[1].
For a restaurant that you can’t miss, this place is the size of a closet. I take a seat at the counter and struggle to remove the menu from its holder. My surly waitress comes by and easily pulls it out and hands it to me before vanishing. Usually, surly service and interesting menu experiences are a turn off for me. Yet, when I eat at a greasy spoon I’m like a BD enthusiast. Yes, waitress, treat me bad. I’m not a regular and, therefore, have been naughty. I don’t know what I want as soon as I sit down, so give me as much attitude as you can dish out[2]. Many places, like Ed Debevic’s and Dick’s Last Resort, are fake surly. I hate fake surly[3]. It makes me feel like I’ve hired a hooker to half-heartedly tie me up and tell me that I’ve been bad. This place isn’t faking surly. It’s like I’ve found my soulmate. Someone who gets as much pleasure from giving me some greasy spoon attitude as I am to receive it. C'mon, give me your worst. I took a cab here, let me fucking have it baby!
There is a reason for this need to be abused by a diner waitress. I believe that it says amazing things about an establishment’s food. If they can afford to stay open, despite a waitstaff that wants to see your head on a pike, than their food must be good. There must be a reason for the regulars to come back. There must be a reason for to take this abuse[4]. This waitress is pretty surly and places a healthy portion of scrambled eggs, corned beef hash and hash browns in front of me.
I will admit, I have a certain way to eat eggs. I mix it together with the corned beef hash and hash browns. I make a giant mess on my plate and then take the first bite of what I can only describe as the ninth wonder of the world. This establishment has a surly waitress and a magic cook. He must be magic. I cannot think of another way for my meal to be this perfectly cooked. The eggs are firm but not rubbery, the hash browns are crispy on the outside but soft on the inside, the corned beef hash is perfectly crisp and tender.
I’m using my fork the way a 10-year old uses a snow shovel. I am going across the plate, quickly, gathering up as much onto my fork as I can in one pass and then depositing the piles of eggy-beefy-potatoey goodness into my mouth and getting to the next pass as quickly as possible. This is the best breakfast I’ve had in some time. Did I mention how good the toast was[5]? As long as it took me to write this paragraph, I could’ve finished my meal 8 times over. It was gone as soon as it came.
Frankly, my waitress hasn’t abused me nearly enough to feel that I deserve this meal[6]. From the dominatrix[7] wait staff to the crazy delicious heap of breakfast, served on the classic off-white plate, this place has greasy spoon down to a science[8]. They even portioned the fucking thing right. This is the first 5/5 I’m giving where I don’t feel stuffed to the rafters. I’m not hungry either. I’m simply full and invigorated and ready for my day to begin. Everything a good breakfast should be.
[1] Mmm…Pictures of signs. Exactly what every food blog is about.
[2] Because I’ve been bad. Did I mention I’ve been bad? I’m a naughty boy.
[3] I hate fake in general. Goddamn phonies…RIP JD.
[4] Despite the fact that I’m a bad, bad boy.
[5] Yes, they managed to make toast a notable part of the meal.
[6] I’m a glutton for greasy spoon punishment.
[7] Come on, one more time, tell me I’m weak, pitiful, scum.
[8] A delicious, delicious science.
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