I arrived a few minutes early for a breakfast yesterday, pushing on the restaurant door even though a prominently affixed “Closed” sign remained unflipped. As I stepped in I was told to sit anywhere, so I picked a table and took a seat, the first patron in the place – Mondays and neighborhood spots don’t generally add up to a bustling breakfast business. I ordered coffee and sat reading the New York Times on my phone, waiting for my friend to arrive.
Something about the place seemed odd – it wasn’t just the lack of patrons – again, that does not surprise me in the ‘hood on weekdays. I sat there looking around; it’s probably been 6 months since I’ve been to the place, a Mexican/American hybrid establishment that has both chilaquiles and a wide assortment of juices and waffles and such for breakfast.
As the server buzzed about, she had a visible “Aha!” moment and retreated to the back of house. Two moments later the place sprang to life with music, and I had my own “Aha!” moment about what had been missing. As if he’d heard his cue, my friend walked in and sat down, and we started to look at the menus.
Thanks for reading.