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Greecey spoon

When we lived on the east side of town I went to this Greek diner for breakfast a lot. I was a regular. I'd walk in and Nazzi, the Iranian waitress, would wave from across the counter and say "anywhere you like, hon," which meant I could sit where I pleased. Being a regular, I never had to order. Nazzi would bring my plate of corned beef, eggs, and hash browns (extra crispy) automatically. I went there for the corned beef. It was a drier, crispier corned beef, much better than the mushy, dog-food-like corn beef you find in most places.

Pete the Greek owns the place. He has cornered the Greek diner market on the east side of town. He has a half-dozen places all with essentially the same menu. I don't need to describe the cuisine; I just say "Greek diner" and you know. Pete thinks highly of himself. You can tell because in each of his joints he has a framed poster-size photo of himself from 50 years ago when he was a young swarthy fellow with a mustache. I think his purpose is to let you know that he had some success with the ladies in his day.

Yeah, I know. This is a freaking lunch blog. I'm getting to that.

So yesterday I went there for lunch for the first time in a couple of years. Nazzi recognized me and brought me a cup of coffee. We chit-chatted about how long it had been. She said "The usual?"

I said "Yes."

She said, "Wow...look at all that white on top of your head. You know they make hair coloring for men now. You should use some."

The corned beef was as good as always. Nazzi received no tip.


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