Ever since I found out the mom of Baby Huey a/k/a Psycho Asscrack works at this hole in the wall diner (literally) on the boulevard, I’ve been dead-set on adding it to the summer breakfast club schedule. It’s called The No Name Cafe and Chooch was way against going here and kept saying we should just go to Parker’s instead.
Honestly, in all of the years I’ve lived in this town, I have never even bothered to look at the menu taped to the window, probably because I’m always too busy ragging on the shitty quality of the hand-written signs. (RESTROOM FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY, etc etc.) I mean, it looks like they handed a Sharpie and a notepad to a 90-year-old with arthritis, confiscated their glasses, turned off the lights, and then made them scrawl out the signs in their opposite writing-hand.
I didn’t take any photos because there is always a perpetual parade of people on the boulevard and I already look like I’m up to no good. However, the diner is closed now so I texted Chooch who is currently next door to the place at the teen center and asked him to send me some pictures of the signs, so here they are, photo cred goes to Chooch, god forbid:
Steeler Country, yo.
Ask Henry how many impassioned speeches I launch into about these signs, and how I would offer to make better ones for them with ONLY THE REQUEST of free grilled cheese for life as my payment.
I do not think this is too much to ask.
But then one night last week, I actually stopped and looked at the menu and exclaimed, “OH SHIT THEY HAVE BREAKFAST BURRITOS.”
I never knew that was a selling point for me but my subconscious self spoke, you guys.
This morning, I woke up at my normal “get up for work” time even though I’m late shift, that’s how inexplicably stoked I was today’s breakfast adventure. I woke Chooch up at 7:30 and he was like, “OMG SRSLY.” But he got up and headed straight to the shower because he was secretly amped for this, I just know it.
First, we had to walk to the ATM because CASH ONLY which I know thanks to a badly-written sign which apparently is still able to get the job done even without bubble letters, glitter pens, or like, a well-placed bloody handprint.
Now typically, I will see some elderly people enjoying their grits or whatever when I walk past the joint, but of course on the day we chose to go, NO ONE was at NO NAME. Just the waitress/cook on duty, who was not the mom of Baby Huey a/k/a Psycho Asscrack but another lady who I recognized because look, I do a lot of walking on the boulevard and she is often sitting on a chair outside of the diner and sometimes the neighboring bakery, weather permitting.
At first, it was really uncomfortable because it was just us and her, no music was playing, no, TV, nothing. And if you’ve met Chooch and me, you know that we can make even the most neutral situation awkward AF. We even made ordering beverage weird.
Stupid Chooch ordered the breakfast burrito (HOLD THE MEAT) and even though my gut was saying, “burrito me!” I panicked and ordered the french toast instead.
Then the waitress lady went around the counter and prepared the grill and I was like OMG SHE IS COOKING RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF US and I don’t know why this made me nervous but suddenly I felt like I was in her house and things just got way intimate – why am I such a spaz.
Chooch and I kept nervously looking at each other and giggling, but then some old guy came in and sat at the counter and I think it was her dad? He didn’t order anything, but they were talking about how her daughter lost $7 or something, maybe at the pool. Then she brought our plates over and apologized to Chooch for not being good at folding burritos but HOLY SHIT his breakfast burrito was a Morning Monster of delicious A.M. foods! There were eggs, onions, peppers, and taco cheese spilling out in a greasy pool of THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY.
And look, my french toast had none of that fancy shit on it. It wasn’t stuffed with cream cheese and berries or crowned with a dollop of whipped cream. No, it was CLASSIC FRENCH TOAST, no gilding of the carb-lillies here, and it tasted just like the french toast my grandma used to make me while I sat patiently at the kitchen counter wrapped in a swathe of soft rock ballads.
OMFG I miss my grandparents’ house so much.
Anyway, that Dad Guy left and then it was just us and the lady, who was sitting on the other side of the counter looking at her phone. I don’t know what prompted me to do this, because I hate talking to strangers – I would make a terrible townie – but there is this bar on the boulevard that recently closed and it looks like the Parker’s people bought it but I forgot to ask the last time we were at Parker’s because I was too busy talking to Mr. Parker about Korea, so I turned in my seat and blurted out, “DID ZIPPY’S CLOSE?” and thus began a lively discourse about the happenings of Brookline and we found out that she’s my age, grew up here, has a daughter who goes to Chooch’s school (she’s younger, but he knows her), and is just a really cool, hard-working lady who is sick and tired of her kid leaving slime all over the house and I was like, “OMFG ME TOO! WHEN IS THIS FAD GOING TO END AND SHOULDN’T A 13 YEAR OLD HAVE OUTGROWN THIS BY NOW??”
I was so happy after we left because sometimes I forget about how I used to be, before life and society stifled me, how I used to be a TALKER and would talk to everyone and I actually had a personality. So, thanks Zippy’s Bar for making me curious enough about your status that I dared to ask a stranger for intel!
Later that day, I went to the post office and had a good chat with MAUREEN the postal clerk about tattoos because as soon as I walked in, she said, “Yeah see, I wouldn’t ever think that you had tattoos” because I was wearing a tank top since this was like, the first legit hot day of the year, it seemed.
What a strange & chatty day! Summer Breakfast Club is the best thing ever! I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL NEXT WEEK’S BREAKFAST! WHO WILL I TALK TO THEN?!