Breakfast at Johnny's

February 12, 2011

Home of the Hashbrunion Supreme
A very special breakfast
I used to go to this old rundown café that was sandwiched between two used car lots. It had the wrap around counter where you could sit and watch Johnny perform with his spatula. Johnny never failed to discreetly disclose to me how the bank was screwing him, how they wouldn’t let him refinance and on and on.  There was also a side room of little tables with gaudy décor and Christmas lights strung about.

my sketch

Johnny’s wife was the waitress, an aging heavy set Eastern European woman who had a huge presence, calling me “honey”. She wore more makeup than a younger women could tolerate. Who knows what she actually wore on Halloween?

I went to Johnny’s for their special breakfast – steak, eggs, onions and potatoes, peppers and who knows what else, and sprinkled with a secret spice mix from Lebanon that may have produced strange effects on me. The dish was called the Hashbrunion Supreme. When Johnny’s wife emerged from the kitchen and brought the huge steaming plate to my table, she seemed to size me up for a moment, as the steam swirled up and enveloped her. Then I swear that plate hovered in the air and made a slow controlled descent onto my table, as if it had its own propulsion system. After that I’d get a kind of amnesia. Always did like Johnny’s.