And I’m wide awake!

At any rate, I’ve been meaning to write about my new toaster for a while now. Patrick sent me that link a couple of months ago, killing two birds with one stone by introducing me to a great blog and my new favorite appliance all at the same time.

The egg and muffin toaster is really sweet. Poaches an egg in no more time than it takes to toast your english muffin, automatically turning itself off when it detects that no more water is left to steam. I pop in my ingredients before I dress in the morning, and when I’m ready to head out the door, I have a tasty Egg NickMuffin to eat in the car. Woo-hoo!

While we’re on breakfast, this recipe for Belgian waffles is out of this world. It’s the corn meal that makes the difference. Amy and I have been eating them every weekend morning (and then some) for two months!

Nevertheless, it looks like we’ll have to wait for the classic diner that Eat Street is screaming for. Amy and I had breakfast there yesterday morning, and it left lots to be desired.

My main disappointment lies with the service. The Bad Waitress is a name apparently meant to be taken literally, because at The Bad Waitress, the bad waitress in question is you. When I go out for breakfast, I want to be waited on by someone who isn’t me. I want to wrestle with the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle while my fiancée reads the rest of the paper, occasionally filling me in on the latest news. I want to tell someone my order, have it brought to me, and drink my coffee that never seems to empty. The experience should be relaxed yet efficient.

But that’s not how it works at TBW. Instead, you seat yourself if you’re lucky enough to find an open booth or adjacent counter seats. You peruse the menu, and once you’ve figured out what you’d like, you write it down on the order pads in front of you. You then take your order pad up to the front desk, turn it in, and pay for it. You wait for your drinks, and bring them back to your seat along with your order number, which alerts the “servers” to where they need to drop off your food. If you want more coffee, get back up to the front desk to fill it yourself (and pay for it again).

The order pads explain this process. The part that had me most riled was the italicized, don’t forget to tip your server. What?! I’m my server. And the time to tip seems to be when you pay, before you’ve actually received any service whatsoever? What happens if I don’t? Do they spit in my food? What is the appropriate tipping amount for nothing? And why would I want to spend my Sunday morning in an awkward line of people waiting to order. I could walk up to McDonald’s if I wanted that.

To top it off, the food wasn’t that great. At a little diner like this, I’m not expecting haute cuisine, I just want simple, well done basics. A bit of flare is great if it works and it’s done right. But they barely offered either. I had scrambled eggs with basil &tomato. The ingredients just weren’t scrambled, with big, separate lumps of cheesy and basil. Bad form. The hashbrowns, on the other hand, were perfect. Amy had a turkey club, a diner staple, and I thought it was tasty and simple as it should be, but they don’t have fries. How can a diner not have french fries?! The menu seemed to generally lean towards fancy as opposed to satisfying and tasty. For example, the burger on the menu was a dish featuring two 2-oz. mini-burgers. This seems to be the trendy thing to do in the last few years, as I’ve seen it pop up on happy hour menus (which you’re more likely to share) at Rossi’s, Lurcat, and Figlio, but it doesn’t make sense as a meal. Just give me one 1/4- or 1/3-pound burger on one bun. And french fries, damn it!

My other complaint was with the seating at the counter. I don’t know who designed it, but they just weren’t paying attention. The seats are too low with respect to the counter, so that when you’re sitting down, the surface itself is at about chest level (I’m 5′ 10″). Awkward. The seats are also too close to the counter. When I sat naturally, my knees were pressed up against the wall. Yuck.

I’m not sure what they were thinking when designing this place, but hopefully they’ll get the picture. Until then, I’ll be wondering what could have been, and making the extra drive to Victor’s 1959 Cafe.