Breakfast in New York

A few days ago I was reading an article on-line regarding a young man who was fired from his job at a fast food come glorified sandwich shop for not having ‘ketchup’ for a customers sandwich of roast beef and cheese I believe it was; it was some weird and wonderful concoction.

Obviously a man of very little taste and with none of the palate! ‘Ketchup’ and cheese on roast beef? Why some people come up with this nonsense I’ll never know or understand. Apparently the fast food joint doesn’t use or supply ‘ketchup’ which is fair enough and the customer should have know this and understood this, but no he performed and the young man got fired.

Don’t they have a Union to stop this mistreatment of employees? I imagine the lad was being paid the lowest minimum wage allowable; expected to take abuse and work his insides out and to think himself lucky to have such a great job. Disgusting and degrading.

Anyway, this reminded me of a breakfast I had in New York one Sunday morning in July 2008; as usual I was awake early and decided to slip out quietly away from the rest of the family and have a nice quiet breakfast on my own. Something which I enjoy on a Sunday morning.

I meandered down Park Avenue towards Union Square  and I came upon this little restaurant that seemed well patronized, it must have been around 8 am; I went inside, they had al fresco dining but I prefer to eat inside in summer, living in Australia we have a problem with flies, big ones, blowies, and I prefer not to share my food with them, so as I say I went in and was given a very nice table where I could survey the room and check out the natives.

It seemed to be a fully licensed restaurant and I have no doubt that if I’d have asked for a beer I’d have got one, but it was a bit early in the day even for me. I had barely sat down and surveyed my surroundings before a very pleasant young lady (at my age they’re all young) came to take my order. I knew exactly what I wanted before going in so I asked for two poached eggs on toast, with nice soft yolks and bacon cooked but not crispy and extra toast and marmalade plus a pot of tea, no milk or cream.

Off she trotted with my order so whilst I waited I started to take in my surroundings and the other customers, I was amazed at the strange eating habits of the natives. In the interim my waitress appeared with a coffee pot and poured me a cup, as I recall it was quite delicious.

There was a middle aged couple at a table just to my right.  The amount of food they ordered  was quite enormous and the variety extraordinary; they had plates piled with pancakes and scrambled eggs and who knows what else and they gobbled away, eating  quickly from different plates greediy too busy to talk; their table manners left much to be desired and the way they handled their cutlery was and is indescribable. I was spellbound and mesmerized.

My food arrived and it was just what I’d ordered; it was delicious. The waitress kept my coffee cup filled, she was very polite and cheerful, she’d probably picked me as a “Brit” as the Yanks like to call us, she asked me how my meal was and I told her I’d enjoyed it but let slip that I missed my cup of tea with my toast.

I regret having said this,  straight from my having said this she went from being a happy smiling confident young woman to a nervous worried one, she was full of apologies and I told her not to worry as I’d enjoyed the coffee and it was not important. But she was obviously worried.

Now I think I know why, she was probably worried that I’d complain to the manager and she’d be fired. It seems managers in the US take great delight in firing somebody for the minutest reason from these low paying jobs without a qualm.

You may rest assured that I did not complain the food was excellent as was the service and I showed my appreciation in the accepted manner of the United States.