How Can You Ruin Breakfast?
Hey, is that constitutional?
Breakfast really is the simplest meal of the day, and it's hands-down my favorite for that very reason. You have to try hard to funk it up.
I hadn't had time before today to sample Somerville's breakfast and brunch spots, so I decided I'd try to rustle something up close to home. My first weekend in my new digs I did the Indian brunch at Diva on the Square here. It's a buffet. It was good, but it wasn't really breakfast as we know it. This morning I wanted a couple of eggs and some sausages, maybe a biscuit, and a cup of joe. No need to get all Bollywood on my ass. Keep it simple.
The best place for this kind of thing is a greasy spoon—or a diner like Mike's in the South End. The worst kind of place is someplace like the Garden of Eden (also in the South End, but on the "other" end of it), where they serve you up a cute little quiche about the size of a thimble with various unnamable and unknowable substances stuffed into it, for which you pay about the equivalent of the GDP of a small third world country.
The first place I thought of this morning was The Rosebud Diner, but when I got there and peered inside, I could see the place was packed. When I went to the door, I saw a hand-written sign on the wall reading:
PLEASE
NO NEWSPAPERS
or
CROSSWORD PUZZLES
And I thought, hmm. I had a magazine with me, since I was alone, and had visions of being asked to step outside if I wanted to read it. Is it the second-hand news they're protecting other patrons from? I hear it can be deadly.
Even though I didn't have a newspaper or a crossword puzzle on me, I found the sign off-putting. I figured I could understand the papers, somehow, even though it seemed extreme to ban them from the premises.
At first I thought maybe it had something to do with how crowded it was inside. You can't really read a newspaper, on account of its dimensions, in someplace really crowded like that—like on a crowded train or in an elevator. Because you have to kind of hold it out at arm's length. And then if you want to turn the page you have to unfold it and open it and shake it and snap it, and all the time you're elbowing people and so on.
And then there's the fact that people tend to just leave the paper wherever it is they've finished it, littering up subway cars and coffee houses and restaurants. Maybe that was the reason for prohibiting them.
But crosswords?
So it must be about turning over their tables, pure and simple. And frankly, it's crude to post notice that you want people to hurry up and finish, and leave as quickly as possible.
I found myself trying to picture the drama that resulted in that sign being made. It probably went down like this: They had some malingerer sucking up space on their busy Sunday mornings, who'd buy a cup of joe and then sit there for three hours reading every last item in the Sunday paper, and then—on to the one unadulterated joy of his life: doing the crossword puzzle.
On a good day—an excellent day—this took him an hour and a half, but most days it was more like five or six, but he stuck with it, in the zone, and always that last little square he filled in was ecstasy—it was rapturous! The Times Sunday Crossword was his religion.
So the Rosebud decided to ban the Sunday paper, thinking that was the way to get rid of him.
The malingerer, being clever (as they are), stopped bringing in the whole paper, and just cut out the crossword, which he'd take out of his pocket with a great flourish and, after ordering his cup of joe, would set to work on, spending all day if necessary, completing it.
One day the waitress pointed to the sign: "No papers! Can't you read?"
"Of course I can read," The malingerer calmly replied. "I used to read the paper here every Sunday. But this isn't the paper, it's just the crossword!"
And then the malingerer smiled that self-satisfied smile malingerers smile.
So the waitress stormed right to the manager's little office, where he was busy tallying up the day's receipts.
"It's that malingerer again!" she hissed. "And he's just torn the damn crossword puzzle right out of the paper!"
They hadn't thought of that.
"Drat that Clever Malingerer!" The manager cursed. "He's foiled us again!"
The manager and the waitress put their heads together, and finally came up with a solution. The manager took out his El Marko and scrawled "or CROSSWORD PUZZLES" across the bottom of the sign.
"There. Let's see him get around this one!"
But Sundays are for shirking. We are all malingerers on Sunday. Who knows but in the interest of faster turnover they may eventually ban all comprandial activity on weekends.
PLEASE
NO NEWSPAPERS
CROSSWORD PUZZLES
MAGAZINES
BOOKS
PRINTED MATTER
VERBALIZING
VOCALIZING
HAND GESTURES
EYE CONTACT
DELIBERATING
INNER MONOLOGUES
or
DIALOGUES
IDLE THOUGHTS
or
REMINISCENCES
PLEASE
STAY FOCUSED
ON THE BUSINESS AT HAND
JUST EAT,
PAY YOUR BILL,
AND GET THE FUNK OUT
I decided I would try back on a weekday morning, just to sample the food. If it was worth the sacrifice of every other pleasure of dining out at a diner—and The Rosebud is just a diner, after all—I might drop in on a weekend.
By the time I had abandoned The Rosebud I was in desperate need of sustenance. So I dropped into The Blue Shirt Cafe for what was the worst breakfast and coffee I have paid eight dollars for in a long time. And it's not that I mind too terribly paying eight bucks for breakfast. But if I am going to, I want to be able to eat it, and to eat it with silverware, not jab at it with plastic forks and knives.
But I was hungry. So I ordered at the counter and then sat down to wait. The two people at the table next to me—one a very earnest scruffy young hippie guy and the other a woman a little older than him dressed all in black—were embroiled in an intense debate. I came in in the middle, so I can't tell you how it all began, but the guy had obviously mentioned—maybe in passing, thinking nothing of it—that in someplace he'd been and maybe just come back from (some third-world capital, I gathered) the natives he had encountered had never seen a cow or a chicken.
The woman was incredulous. A cow, she could understand. But chickens? Was he sure?
He looked mortified. He seemed to just have been relating some little observations from his trip and had not expected to be challenged like this. Was she calling him a liar? What would she say next? That he had not been to wherever he'd just been at all? I could tell he wanted to avoid a confrontation, but at the same time, he knew he had heard them say they had never seen a cow or a chicken, not just a cow.
"That's absurd!" The woman snarled. "People will come right up to you on the street and sell you chickens!"
"Well, um, er..." The hippie kid stuttered.
"Didn't people sell you chickens?"
"I, er, uh..."
"There are chickens everywhere! Right on the street! Are you sure you heard right?"
She was merciless. And he was reduced to mush.
"Well, er, they, um... I thought... er, cows...um, chickens are the ones that go 'quack,' right?"
This went on for at least twenty minutes. I am not exaggerating. And when they left they were still at it.
"Cows I can see," she was lecturing him, "but chickens?"
By then, mercifully, my order, fresh-made but remarkably cold and hard—as cold and hard as my heart was now—had been called by a surly line cook, and I forced it down only to stave off starvation, cursing humanity.
Suggestions for Sunday brunch in the area would definitely be appreciated.
Mikey baby, you know how much I love you, but, well, get stuffed. You have obviously never worked in a restaurant. Somebody hogging a space for 3 hours on a Sunday morning deprives not only the restaurant, but also the servers of revenue. And speaking from personal experience, the jerk that sets up camp and gets out their coloring books and puzzles and spends an entire meal shift at their table do not spend any more than they have to and do not tip. Leisurely time reading the Times cover to cover and doing the puzzle? Don't these people have homes? Not only that my dove, but it means that you will have to wait that much longer so you can be seated so you can order your very own rubber eggs and bad coffee. If you or anyone wants to spend the entire day at a coffee shop, go to Starbucks that's what it's there for. I think you should be a little more concerned about the fact that most businesses in fact are encouraging people to behave as stupidly and selfishly as they like, which is why people will sit in Starbucks and pay 5 bucks for a cup of lousy coffee so they can do their fucking crossword puzzle and chain stores allow their customers to let their screaming spawn loose in the aisles and it is somehow the responsibility of some poor minimum wage slave to keep these brats from destroying the store while their parents are picking out the second wide screen set that they need to knock a wall out for so they will never be out of sight of a TV screen while they are home. Okay, I think I'm through ranting now.
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Well, that would explain the inordinately long lines at Sound Bites in Ball Square every weekend. (Take about a place that isn't afraid to hurry you in and out, and yet there are people waiting halfway down the block for breakfast on the weekends. Go on the weekdays, if at all; it's OK, but not worth the line.)
Better: Broken Yolk on College Ave., almost to Powderhouse Circle.
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Sunday breakfast near Davis Square? Three suggestions:
Renee's, on Holland Street up towards Teele Square
Andy's, on Mass. Ave. near Beech Street
Johnny D's -- light jazz performed at no extra cost
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Why do I have to submit this comment 6 times in a row before you will accept it?
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As a self prescribed brunch-aholic I think you should try these places.
1. Lucky's on Congress St (they have a soft band starting around 11:30).
2. 75 Chestnut (pricey - but hey, its Beacon Hill and they have live music).
3. Anthony's on the Waterfront in the North End. Good food, outdoor seating in the summer but they dish on paper plates and use plastic forks.
4. Boston Beanstock Cafe - North End. Good breakfast sandwiches, couches, chairs, fake wood stove, lots of good looking people, and the most addictive ice coffee on earth.
5. Harvard Gardens on Beacon Hill. Pricey, but good drinks and decent food.
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Since you asked, go to McKenna's on Savin Hill Ave., to the right as you walk out of the main doors of the Savin Hill T stop. Great stuff. Not expensive.
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The Rosebud is a proud Somerville institution, but the worse time to pay a visit is definitely during Sunday brunch time. The easy- going waitresses who like to call everyone 'Hon', engage sympathetic diners in their harrowing yet inspiring tales of reaching the (alcholic)brink and back again, and who usually go by names like 'Rhonda', turn into a different kind of species come Sunday morn. This is probably due to the pressure of the owner, no doubt, who cannot be faulted for the dollar signs in his eyes on Sundays.
It was wise of you not to venture in, because it would have left a very sour taste in your mouth. Once, years ago, I unknowingly attempted to try their Sunday brunch - a perfectly reasonable and satisfying one, by the way. The problem was that the friend who accompanied me, unknowingly (being from Brookline)asked for her cup of coffee to be refilled. In a scene reminiscent of Oliver Twist's orphanage days ("What did you say? You want some MORE?!")we were strongly urged to get the hell out.
But you definitely should try the place some other time.
Other suggestions: Johnny D's has a good weekend brunch, but since their Sunday ones tend to get crowded as well (although they're too polite to actually ask you to leave)it's better to get there before or after the maddening crowd.
A block down is Orleans, Johnny D's almost always empty brunch competitor, which actually isn't bad at all, unless some sports game is blasting in your ear.
Diesel Cafe's food is always pretty good,though not particulary brunch like. The thing is, the cafe donates every dollar you pay for coffee toward the Somerville Homeless Association, so at least you'll also be doing your mitzvah for the day.
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Some Somerville Sunday brunch suggestions:
Rene's Cafe, on Holland St.
Kelly's Diner, and True Grounds, both in Ball Square. There is also Sounds Bites in Ball Square, but I find this place too crowded and rushed, and not worth it. In the summertime, my favorite place is the Neighborhood, in Union Square.
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If you're going to venture up to Ball Square, check out Kelly's, and skip Sound Bites. Kelly's has a high turnover, but no one's eyeballing you to eat your food, wordlessly telling you not to read, and get out. Plus, the line is always smaller than at 'Bites. Food is excellent, portions are super, and it's a converted railroad dining car! Fun history AND great food. What more can you ask for?
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I miss the Mexican brunches at Picante, which closed its Davis Square locaiton last year. But you can still take the T to their Central Square restaurant and have your brunch there.
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I can understand the Rosebud not wanting people lingering for hours. But you don't put up a sign; that's the chicken-shit way of dealing with it. That's the equivalent of one person coming in late chronically and the boss sending out a department-wide notice about tardiness. Instead, you confront the person or people who are causing the problem and deal with them directly, rather than offending the 99.44% of the folks who aren't part of the problem. You simply say politely, "Hi - are you going to order anything else? If you're all finished, then I'm going to bring you your check, because we have quite a few people waiting for a table." Problem solved.
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This made me laugh. Years ago I used to be off on Fridays. One day I decided to do to the Rosebud instead of my usual place b/c I believe it was closed. I had been to the Rosebud before and thought it was ok but I wanted an easy breakfast and it was early in the a.m... about 9ish. SO I walk in and the waitress goes to seat me at the counter.. personally I HATE sitting at the counter - always have always will. I wanted ot sit in a booth. So I requested a booth. The waitress says "You can't sit in a booth as you are here alone and the manager doesn't allow that." I look at her and then I look at the EMPTY Rosebud and looked at her again. I said "you are kidding, right? There is no one here." And she said "the manager doesn't allow it." I took my paper and left never to return.
Now I could see if the palce was packed and others we waiting but it was just me trying ot get some eggs in an empty restaurant. SOmetimes places get a wee bit big for their britches.
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