My wife and I recently dined with her mother at Ricky’s All-Day Grill. Wait, does one actually “dine” at Ricky’s? Is it simply eating? Something more severe like stogging, can stog even be a verb or only an adjective? Perhaps consuming food at Ricky’s is clinical and satiating from the standpoint of sustenance. Regardless, I was there, my wife was there, and my mother in law was there. We were hungry and damnit, we were going to order breakfast.
Ricky’s is one of those places where the elderly co-mingle with the the hungover. For that very reason it is perpetually breakfast time at Ricky’s. A haven for the brunchers who rose too late. A bastion for those who want to brunch, but whose diet restricts them from ostentatiousness of brunch culture.
Though the same cannot be said for dining area who used to feel more like a diner. Now it tries to fit into the demographic inhabited by above mid-range chain restaurants. The kind that,in an attempt to make patrons think they are fancier and richer than they really are, have dark wood and black leather chairs and waitresses in tight black dresses. I loved you the way you were Ricky’s everyone did. People don’t care what you look like as long as you are mostly clean, have bottomless coffee, and serve breakfast with a devil may care attitude for the position of the sun. If someone does care, they either aren’t that hungover or are no where near retiring. Why even bother with them Ricky? Just let them go! They are going to cramp the scene anyway.
The waiter came and dropped off our vat of coffee and took our orders. Eggs for my mo’law and myself. While my wife chose pancakes. I also added perogies, which isn’t really important to this story, I just wanted readers to think how good perogies would be right now.
The food arrived and for the most part we snarfed it down without much faire. I had to admit that at first glance, the pancakes didn’t look all that great and my wife soon corroborated my thought. As usual my wife offered me her uneaten portion which I eagerly accepted. While I did eat every bite of pancake, I have to admit they were not all that great. Somewhere more near the texture of a crepe, albeit poorly executed. They were dense and as fluffy as an anvil cloud. Yet, they were satisfactory as a vehicle for maple syrup. Not your best form Ricky, but never you mind. We will be back.
The next morning I offered to take my wife to one of our favorite restaurants on The Drive. The pancake recipe is far superior and they put slices of apples in them. She said maybe, she could use a pancake that would redeem the one from the previous day. I said, “Baby, the Universe Owes You A Pancake.”
We still haven’t gotten that pancake yet. What is good about an I-owe-you from the universe is that it never expires. Statement due to change in the event of supernova, world ending calamity, and the inevitable ripple collapse of the universe itself. Void in Alaska, Hawaii, Puerto Rico and to residents of Quebec.