breakfast joints

Whatever you believe in, a morning at one of these joints is just what you need to restore your faith. I mean, come on -- it’s August, I hate August just about anywhere, least-ways New York, where today, at 10 in the morning, it’s 90 degrees and killer humid. Instead of wasting breath kvetching over the agony that has been the past week (news stories, another cluster of bad summer movies, job issues), let’s take a moment to indulge in a little top-ten action.

So, on a subject that could keep me talking for hours (breakfast joints) I offer a primer for the perfect early-morning wakeup, glimpses of greatness nationwide. I’m still waiting for my name to be called at the Flying Biscuit in Atlanta, but until then, here we be.

Coming soon: Coffee bars, wilderness hikes plus the news from the new Hong Kong.

The Original Pantry
877 S Figueroa Street, Los Angeles, CA
Far and away, the best. Mostly, because it’s in a town about which most Americans have an over-abundance of pre-conceived and misguided notions. Los Angeles is not all studio hacks and porn stars with breast implants, it is a real, working-class town for the most part, and this Downtown institution owned by now-retired mayor Dick Riordan is the best place to fall back in love with the city after one too many nights out in Westwood, which is the first stop for folks who want to cling to the stereotype of LA being only silly white people driving SUV’s. Come weekend mornings, not only is there ample street parking on Figueroa Street (The 7th Street Metro Stop is two blocks distant if you’re coming from Hollywood or Los Feliz), you’ll also have the pleasure of waiting in a very New York-esque line, where normal people chat with each other admire other’s children, scan the headlines in the Times (LA or NY) and anticipate breakfast specials that involve the best pancakes on the planet, the best diner coffee in the West, and brisk, no-nonsense service. Hint: There are two Pantry’s, side by side. The Bakery (the larger one with the green awnings) is my favorite. Sit at the counter where without fail, our pal Gene is always on duty. Not only will you get a seat almost right away, you’ll also get to commune with latino truck-drivers, black construction workers, groovy East Side couples basking in the morning-after, and a sampler of downtown residents, who are as kooky as your typical New Yorker, the kind that collect newspapers and dedicate their life to feeding the dozen cats they keep in their studio apartment around the corner. 24/7, and less than $6 a head, including coffee and OJ. I love this town!

Wishbone
3300 N. Lincoln Avenue, Chicago, IL
Wishbone is many things, but it is not a place to go before a cup of coffee or two. I say this, because in order to deal with the fact that service seems to get worse with each visit (and oh, are they many), it is important that you not depend on them for your first cup. Not because the coffee isn’t strong and fantastic, but just because it takes so damn long to get any. Nevertheless, dropping in here on a Sunday morning for corn griddle cakes with red pepper cream sauce, eggs, chicken sausage, cheese grits and a host of other southern-influenced dishes will put the greatest spin on your day, if it doesn’t make you want to crawl back in bed. Why shouldn’t you – could the day get any better than this? This restaurant used to be in a little blue wood-frame house out in the wastelands of West Grand Avenue. Back then, they had career waitresses and great service because there were only a handful of tables, plus free coffee in the entryway for the crowds that had to kill time on the broken sidewalks out front. Lots of people like the Washington Boulevard location across from Harpo Studios – the cavernous space is really more of a Harpo canteen (no wonder Oprah can’t keep the pounds off!). The waitstaff and vibe are appropriately snooty for the locale. Avoid, and head up to Lincoln Avenue, which opened when Grand Avenue closed. Even if the clientele is distinctly Abercrombie and Fitch (what can you do – the whole North Side has gotten obnoxiously A&F since the old days), we don’t mind. So in other words, all the reasons to hate Wishbone don’t add up to anywhere near keeping us away from the food, which is truly unparalleled in its category citywide, and probably anywhere north of Memphis.

Four Sisters Owl Diner
244 Appleton Street, Lowell, MA
Everyone thinks Jersey has the best diners. Truth is, Jersey ripped off New England. Step in this old dining car any morning of the week, and it’s like the mills never closed. It’s a brilliant testimony to Lowell’s unchanged spirit -- while the textile industry collapsed, the diners lived on as the satellite centers of social life in the recovering industrial town just north of Boston self-conciousness. Beans and toast? Raffle tickets? There you go. The cheap-cheap breakfast specials (great omelettes), the adoring yet brusque service (the sort of waitress that you want to hug for being so perfect) and the mix of locals crowding the vintage space so beautiful in morning light – it’s all too good to be true. I’ve pondered driving all the way from New York just for breakfast (three hours! come on! that’s a morning commute around here!), but can never convince anyone to join me. Make sure to sit in the car, not the extension, for a truly quality experience. Note: The MBTA runs commuter trains from Boston to Lowell station – I highly recommend the trip. Fall in line, drink your coffee, eat your breakfast, and dance back out into the street. Suddenly, life tastes good, with or without Coca-Cola.

George’s Bakery
127 W. North Bend Way, North Bend, WA
We hear that the Double R Diner, which was actually called the Mar-T back in Twin Peaks days, (later to become Twede’s Café), is open again. Open, yes finally, after last year’s tragic arson gutted the home of damn fine coffee and, as Agent Cooper once said, the resting place of pies after death. (“This must be where pies go when they die.”) According to fans worldwide, after you’ve eaten there once, there’s really no reason to return. I can neither confirm nor deny the allegation as ownership has changed hands so many times over the years. But what can be confirmed is that on any day, the breakfast around the corner at George’s is perfect, perfection that can’t possibly be repeated twice in a town of this size. If in fact it can, I will move in tomorrow. The apple fritters and lattes are worth the drive from Texas, if not Seattle, especially since anywhere outside of North Bend, coffee prices double. Here, they do it better than half the places I’ve been to down the hill in the Emerald City, and for pennies. Lunch time, soups and sandwiches absolutely kill, baked goods are better than sex, fresh all day long. Bagels, donuts, everything. Tacky décor (plastic tablecloths) coupled with astonishingly good local art hanging on the walls says all you need to know about the Snoqualmie Valley. Sensible, cultured, and wholly unpretentious. Best of all, when you’re here, you see how brilliantly true-to-life the Twin Peaks series was. Unlike pretty much any television series or movie ever made, when you’re here, you feel like you are actually entwined in a story line.

Spring Garden Restaurant
2200 Spring Garden Avenue, Philadelphia, PA
This is one of the strangest places on the planet – first of all, it’s not well advertised, just a lone door in the corner of a horrific brick building, typical of much of the downtrodden modern architecture that dot this struggling city rife with gorgeous historic buildings. Walk in to what you think is going to be your typical urban liquor store sort of experience, and you’re surrounded the usual convenience store affair. Beverage coolers, cigarettes, Tastykakes – then, in the rear, you notice a row or two of dark paneled/brown nauga booths and a coffee shop counter. The waitresses, Lord love ‘em, are about as fossilized as the décor, but the breakfast is so cheap it’s not funny ($2.50 for eggs, scrapple, homefries, toast, coffee, orange juice) and the crowd is a delightful mix of church-going ladies in big hats, yuppies/urban pioneers, and ne’r-do-wells. If you never had the good fortune to eat scrapple, here’s where to try it – a perfectly crisp reddish brown slab, with the smooth, grey inside (sold on the concept yet?). Heaven. Just think – at least it’s fresher than hot dogs, and besides, I’ve seen where scrapple comes from. Guaranteed, it’s not half as scary as your average frank. Grab some Tastykakes from the rack, let the fossils keep on keepin’ on with the coffee pot (some of the best joe in the city, shockingly), and light up – as with so many excellent hangouts in Philadelphia, smoking is encouraged. What could possibly be more important than spending a couple hours here in the afternoon? Best of all, in one of those classic Philly contrasts between high and low brow: The Rodin Museum is two blocks away, the Four Seasons Hotel just down the way.

Monterey Room at the Gold Coast Casino
4000 W. Flamingo Road, Las Vegas, NV
You have to love the people who complain about places like the Gold Coast. It’s trashy, they say. Crowded. The rooms suck. The people in the casino scare me. I felt ripped off. I didn’t get comped. Idiots! It’s the Gold Coast. You know exactly what you’re getting into when you pull into the parking lot – a free pass to ‘old’ Vegas. Therein lies its perfection. Why pay $12 for the breakfast buffet at the Bellagio when you can drive a few blocks over and get more pancakes and eggs than you can stand for almost nothing? There’s something about getting a good night’s sleep, showering, grabbing your morning coffee and heading over to West Flamingo Road Eight in the morning, you’re feeling great, leaving morning sun behind in favor of the dark, smoky environs of the casino, where hungover locals are pulling all nighters at the video poker machines. It should be depressing, but it’s not. The sourdough pancakes at Arizona Charlie’s might be better, but there, the median age of the waitstaff is 12, and like other, more expensive places I won’t bother complaining about in town, they hate serving parties-of-one (tip whores!). Here, no worries -- slide into a booth at the Gold Coast’s Monterey, where authentic Chinese dishes are served all night for the never-ending stream of Asian tour groups that shack up here. Spread out your copy of the Review-Journal, and rejoice over the fact that you don’t have a gambling problem. Yet.

Jedediah’s House of Sourdough
135 E Broadway, Jackson, WY
Arizona Charlie’s may be no fun, but speaking of sourdough, sourdough pancakes so good that I can taste them right now thousands of miles away, it’s off to Jedediah’s. You know that brilliant taste, it makes your tongue tingle? Being that this is Jackson, it’s not cheap (you’ll spend about $7 a head) but who cares. Head here right when it opens in the wee hours, when it’s still dark outside, and get to work on your stack and the pot of coffee they’ll leave on the table. Service is good but indifferent as is apropo for Jackson, which is ever guilty of the sin of biting the hand that feeds it (tourism-dependent, but deeply anti-tourist). Never mind all that, try to ignore the florescent lights and eat your breakfast. In a town full of restaurants, here you’ll get what you pay for, as opposed to some of the more trumpeted locations in this, the most expensive little town in the nation.

Hollywood Hills Coffee Shop
6145 Franklin Avenue, Los Angeles
So they jacked their prices to pay for the remodeling job after Swingers, but that’s okay, because for ambience, food and random star sightings, this is the best place in the nabe to be at any time during the day. The omelettes, bagels and lox, coffee, pancakes – all fantastic, yes. But even if they weren’t, the space is so much fun, the service so pleasant, well, you can excuse the $5 minimum and the prominent sign (posted in so many places across the city) which proclaims that they reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. Which is something that always makes me laugh – if you needed proof that Los Angeles is a city of paranoid white people, there it is. Look for the ever shrinking white populace to grow more and more confused as time goes on. Meanwhile, kick back and love life at this, one of the many fantastic hangouts dotting the city, even if the demographic is decidedly hipsters, all in their Hollywood/Los Feliz/Silver Lake/Echo Park uniforms (not unlike NY’s Lower East Side – wool caps in June, lots of ironic logos on the t-shirts, silly hair – you know the drill).