The food at Continental Diner was nothing special. It’s said that simply looking at the menu will widen your waistline. I chuckled whenever I heard patrons requesting a soy mocha latte with foam or an espresso with raspberry syrup and whipped cream. As far as coffee goes, Continental Diner offered regular and decaf coffee. If you’re feeling fancy, you can go so far as stirring in a sugar packet.
I appreciated the simplicity.
It’s not the food that brought me to the diner on a weekly basis. It’s the glorious, greasy bar perched in front of the chefs and servers working efficiently, non-stop, their smiles never faltering. There was a camaraderie and shared happiness amongst the chaos, a spectacle I’ve not witnessed at any other food establishment whether it be bar food or highbrow cuisine. Being somewhat introverted, sitting at the bar forced me to socialize even if for a short time.
Suzie, one of the servers, possessed an eagle eye from years of experience, quickly spotting anyone without a cup of coffee or plate of food in front of them. She had changed her hair color yet again from dark green to an eye-popping pink. Even without speaking in her deep, affected voice, her wrinkly neck gave away the fact she was a heavy smoker.
I requested my usual order, “Coffee. Black, please.” I know better than to order decaf coffee. I ordered decaf from Suzie once in the past. She had issued me such a wicked scowl, my order forcing her to fire up the infrequently used decaf machine, that I stuck to ordering regular coffee. While the diner’s coffee wasn’t winning any awards, it was unlimited.
Suzie handed me a steaming hot cup. I loved the feel of the thick, ceramic mug. It, like the diner, felt like it was from a different time, where people maintained eye contact with others and spoke freely instead of escaping to their cell phones when they got bored. I gently breathed over the top of the cup and sipped slowly. The caffeine made me jittery. I’m really not supposed to have any caffeine, even green tea, due to my heart medication. Caffeine, whether it was in tea or coffee, had the opposite effect on me as its desired intention. It provided an extremely short-lived burst of energy followed by a sudden nosedive into frequent yawns and irritating hunger pains. As far as I knew and from what the internet had told me, there’s no long-term ill effects mixing heart medication and coffee besides heart palpitations. The jitters are but a small price to pay for my weekly indulgence. The way I saw it is if you frequent a diner, you should enjoy a cup of coffee.
Two stools away from me, I cringed as a woman dumped an ungodly amount of sugar into her coffee. I thought to myself, “Would you like coffee with your sugar?” It would be easier to down a concentrated caffeine pill than endure all that sugar for the caffeine hit. I disregarded the negative thought. Not everyone is like me, I told myself. Besides, these are the small but crucial moments that made this dining experience such a treat.
Behind me, two kids ran by, smacking their shoulders on my seat, causing me to spin in my stool. Their parents raged from the confines of their booth, on the verge of losing their tempers. The father stood up, gripping the edge of the table, “Braxton! Kevin! Get back here. Now!” Other diners ignored the boisterous brothers. Families shouting, chaos involving kids, was such a common occurrence that it didn’t faze anyone.
I pictured the brothers hoisted up by their shorts and carried out by a hoity-toity server at Don Patel’s, one of the fancier establishments in town. Kids running amok had become so bad the restaurant had instituted a policy banning all kids under thirteen. It turned out to be a bold move that paid off. Don Patel’s quickly saw an increase in business. I can understand the frustration, especially when Don Patel’s doesn’t offer a plate, not even a salad, under fifty dollars. When you’re spending that kind of money, the last thing you want is kids running around akin to a Chuck E Cheese’s.
I waved at Suzie to take my food order. The diner is sometimes so busy, I must shout for one of them to notice me. Suzie rushed over, replenishing my cup with fresh coffee.
“What are you thinking” she asked, flashing her last three remaining teeth.
“I’ll have the steak, eggs and cheese bowl.”
She wrote down the order on a small piece of yellow paper and shouted out to her team. If you’ve never been to an establishment where you can watch chefs work their magic, even if it’s something as simple as bacon and eggs, I highly recommend it. I find it mesmerizing to watch egg after egg cracked over the griddle, sizzling next to hashbrowns mixed in with cheese and tiny blocks of chicken. The chef running the show, Bobby-O, started singing, joined in by Donna for a duet.
“I’ve only got two legs and two arms!
So watch me cook these eggs from the farm!
All day and all night
My belly stays full, you know that’s right!”
Bobby-O encouraged Suzie to join in. “Come on, girl!”
Suzie waved his offer away, speaking loudly so everyone could hear, “We’re supposed to bring in the customers, not scare them away.”
The diner roared with laughter.
“Oh! Oh! I got another.” Bobby-O clapped his hands and skillfully flipped a pancake-sized helping of hashbrowns.
“Down on the grill, I go!
Cooking everything I know
Make it spicy, make it fast
So I can take a break, at last!”
His impromptu singing received a round of applause. One customer held up a glass of orange juice, “Salud!”
“Thank you, thank you!” Bobby-O flipped the spatula from one hand to the other and took a bow.
“Someday, he’s gonna make us all famous,” Suzie quipped.
“Was anyone filming” Donna teased.
As far as fame went, Continental Diner was a well-known staple, having been around since the fifties. There’s one in just about every town. The wall of the kitchen had pictures of chefs posing with whom I can only guess are celebrities.
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