blue of dali
round booth-ing
the round blue
dali around
a meeting in blue
mustachios
lost notebook
blue rings round
lady face
round dali
edge of town
eggs running and running and running and running and running and running
edge of town
edge blue edge of town
the phone is ringing now
it's for you, eggs,
a very merry easter egg
was eaten by my very eager mouth
just now
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Fullerton and Western
dear brother, dear mate,
green polyester pant-suit trimmed with baby-blue rhinestones Carpenters' record albums on the musty shag carpet at someone's wheelchair-bound uncle's house and eggs and eggs and messy butter and the swift and sorrowful ticking of a bank-giveaway alarm clock and brushing hair with your friend's older sister in a bedroom with a pastel bedspread and a long drive along Fullerton Ave. with spring in the air that collects at your sleeve's edge, when you hang your arm out the window, to point at the diner where you get burnt coffee and cheapo hash and nice pluckable eggs.
love,
lorine, an eggs-istentialist.
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green polyester pant-suit trimmed with baby-blue rhinestones Carpenters' record albums on the musty shag carpet at someone's wheelchair-bound uncle's house and eggs and eggs and messy butter and the swift and sorrowful ticking of a bank-giveaway alarm clock and brushing hair with your friend's older sister in a bedroom with a pastel bedspread and a long drive along Fullerton Ave. with spring in the air that collects at your sleeve's edge, when you hang your arm out the window, to point at the diner where you get burnt coffee and cheapo hash and nice pluckable eggs.
love,
lorine, an eggs-istentialist.
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I think it's important, also . . .
. . . to explain the music/art/poems that go with each diner.
Above is the picture that goes with Alexander's; it is what I see when I eat a feta/spinach omelette and look across the table at Gus and Max. (Please look carefully for the heads.)
Recap
Eggsy-zizers:
We got to get crackin. Here's a comprehensive list of our egg tour:
Unnamed: Lawrence and Elston.
Two-Way: Elston and Pulaski.
Huddle House: Kimball, Brown Line.
Open Twenty-Fours: Bryn Mawr and Kimball.
P & S Snack Shop: Western and Touhy.
Alexander's: Clark and Peterson.
A & T: Clark and Lunt.
Sunshine Patio: Elston and Kedzie.
Arnold's: Irving and Broadway.
We got to get crackin. Here's a comprehensive list of our egg tour:
Unnamed: Lawrence and Elston.
Two-Way: Elston and Pulaski.
Huddle House: Kimball, Brown Line.
Open Twenty-Fours: Bryn Mawr and Kimball.
P & S Snack Shop: Western and Touhy.
Alexander's: Clark and Peterson.
A & T: Clark and Lunt.
Sunshine Patio: Elston and Kedzie.
Arnold's: Irving and Broadway.
Cafe Del Mundo
Lorine says, "Counter service. Good eggs. Hot sun through the window. Nice plants. No tabasco; rather, Mexican salsa. Hard to get a cup of water. I give it three eggs. While inside of it, we re-identified ourselves as Lorine, Gustav (Gus), and Max."
Gustav: "I give it three eggs. Inferior to some other spots"
What says Max? "A diner without proper hot sauce is no diner at all, but the grammar and decor were so distressed that I felt comforted."
Cafe del Mundo: a place for satisfactory eggs.
A&T Belated
The A&T was a family-style, we learned. Though still good. The coffee was flying fast. There were two complete hams in a disposable metal pan sitting in the kitchen window. We asked if they were turkeys. No. They were hams. I remember slightly regretting the choice of omelette. I should've gone with the usual: two eggs, toast, hash browns, coffee.
The A&T is on Clark.
Sunshine Patio
Kedzie and Elston.
Greek.
Plastic plates.
Warm and sunny.
Waitress=tragic-beauty type.
Not cheap, but not a wallet-buster.
Coffee had hints of nutmeg and cinnamon.
Some talk of Grecian anarchists at the grill.
Parking lot was icy and cramped.
I used too much tabasco on my eggs and hallucinated that I was sitting in a wood-panel booth with my brother and my husband while a man screamed into his cellphone in Greek. And I was eating eggs. And when I came to, strange pictures were being taken. I was in drag. I lost my mittens. A penelope-dog came along and broke our hearts. And we were fined for losing our plastic coffee cups in the parking lot. And I cried some diamonds into my brother's car window as he smoked, and he said, "Finally, we're rich."
Greek.
Plastic plates.
Warm and sunny.
Waitress=tragic-beauty type.
Not cheap, but not a wallet-buster.
Coffee had hints of nutmeg and cinnamon.
Some talk of Grecian anarchists at the grill.
Parking lot was icy and cramped.
I used too much tabasco on my eggs and hallucinated that I was sitting in a wood-panel booth with my brother and my husband while a man screamed into his cellphone in Greek. And I was eating eggs. And when I came to, strange pictures were being taken. I was in drag. I lost my mittens. A penelope-dog came along and broke our hearts. And we were fined for losing our plastic coffee cups in the parking lot. And I cried some diamonds into my brother's car window as he smoked, and he said, "Finally, we're rich."
Fellow egg-eaters . . .
Because I like to re-cap, and because we have done a lot of serious work in the past two months, I'd like to propose to you, my companions, that we critically respond to our entire list of diners thus far (please note that we have one review below).
I'll go first.
1. Two of us went to the Lawrence Grill at Lawrence and Elston. Since that visit, it has been closed by the Dept. of Health and reopened.
While the weirdo factor is high (shaved eyebrows, radios in pockets, found pets), the atmosphere is a little stale. There is no decor, and the waitress joked with us about eating bacon in a way that seemed vaguely lewd.
We each had two easy ones, hashbrowns, toast, and coffee . . . I paid with a ten dollar bill and we left a hefty tip.
This place is good for: sitting alone in the winter and looking at the Korean wholesale shop across the street, while reading horoscopes, wearing a red jacket, getting ready to see a man about a job.
2. No fucking doubt about it: Two-Way is My Way: Elston and Pulaski. A dreamy waitress in her 50s. Eyeliner. Absolutely delicious. No tables. Counter only. Intimate. Coffee is hot. There's little to no David Lynch effect, as the place is so rad.
3. Huddle House. Polka music. You can't keep your silverware at the table if you're not using it; HH management thinks it dangerous.
4. Companions: what's the name of the one at Irving and Sheridan? Melvin's? Green table cloths. Queens. Kids. Regular people. Good food. Not cheap. I'd like to get our photos on that wall of shame/adoration.
5. The nameless place at Brynmawr and Kimball, same management as #1; also had license suspended. Food was okay. Atmosphere was okay. Waitress was salty.
6. Chicago Grill. I liked the waitress and her moles. Not unsettling at all. I found the weirdo-presence to be just right, comforting, like eating soggy mac&cheese in your Nana's bed while watching Golden Girls and getting a back rub from said Nana. And you and your brother will then make up jokes over the coughdrops she gives you for dessert. And, also, sing the GG song. And, also, your Nana wears golden slippers. Literally.
-Lorine
I'll go first.
1. Two of us went to the Lawrence Grill at Lawrence and Elston. Since that visit, it has been closed by the Dept. of Health and reopened.
While the weirdo factor is high (shaved eyebrows, radios in pockets, found pets), the atmosphere is a little stale. There is no decor, and the waitress joked with us about eating bacon in a way that seemed vaguely lewd.
We each had two easy ones, hashbrowns, toast, and coffee . . . I paid with a ten dollar bill and we left a hefty tip.
This place is good for: sitting alone in the winter and looking at the Korean wholesale shop across the street, while reading horoscopes, wearing a red jacket, getting ready to see a man about a job.
2. No fucking doubt about it: Two-Way is My Way: Elston and Pulaski. A dreamy waitress in her 50s. Eyeliner. Absolutely delicious. No tables. Counter only. Intimate. Coffee is hot. There's little to no David Lynch effect, as the place is so rad.
3. Huddle House. Polka music. You can't keep your silverware at the table if you're not using it; HH management thinks it dangerous.
4. Companions: what's the name of the one at Irving and Sheridan? Melvin's? Green table cloths. Queens. Kids. Regular people. Good food. Not cheap. I'd like to get our photos on that wall of shame/adoration.
5. The nameless place at Brynmawr and Kimball, same management as #1; also had license suspended. Food was okay. Atmosphere was okay. Waitress was salty.
6. Chicago Grill. I liked the waitress and her moles. Not unsettling at all. I found the weirdo-presence to be just right, comforting, like eating soggy mac&cheese in your Nana's bed while watching Golden Girls and getting a back rub from said Nana. And you and your brother will then make up jokes over the coughdrops she gives you for dessert. And, also, sing the GG song. And, also, your Nana wears golden slippers. Literally.
-Lorine
Chicago Grill
The Chicago Grill. What can one say? It's at the corner of Irving Park Road and Pulaski, to be sure. It serves eggs, coffee, toast, hash browns, etc. I, and one other, ordered eggs over easy, hash browns, and buttered wheat toast. The service was good, friendly. Though, the waitress had an unsettling series of moles, including one translucent hairy-barker on her wrist. When we ordered our food, it did take a bit more time than is usual, but the results were good enough. The eggs were undercooked.
The decor: folding chairs, and plastic tables and plates, a tack board with pictures of dogs and children, a pay phone that's shut off from eleven at night until five in the morning, a toothless woman drinking coffee at the counter, bus drivers. The staff seemed unaccustomed to tips.
I give it a three of five.
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