Dana's is a beloved institution in these parts -- a 6-seat diner with extra seating at card tables out on the street. It sits by the light rail tracks. Long on charm, the walls are decorated by lists of specials on colorful laminated cards.
Dana himself is a grumpy, adorable little old man. One of the cooks may be his grandson. On this occasion the food took forever but the coffee was plentiful and look at this breakfast! Gorgeous.
I wasn't with mrguy on this jaunt, and I really wanted him to have the experience, so we tried to go twice and there was a long line. That's how we ended up at the crepe place down the street, which I like very much now except there are usually lots of kids there.
K. Yesterday was the day. Dana's was open, and we scored two seats at "l" section of the counter. We were in!! So we sat there and nobody made eye contact. Not so much as a hello. No water, no coffee. I think the menu was already there, so we made a selection. Then we waited.
Meanwhile Dana was grumbling at the woman behind the counter, and she was grumbling back at him. She was unkempt, and from our vantage point I could see how filthy this place was. Usually I can make myself unsee those things, but not in this case. As the lady argued with Dana under her breath, she kept shifting her cleaning rag between the counter and the pocket of her apron, where she also kept her money. She tucked a bottle of orange juice underneath her armpit and took it outside to serve from. The other cook had a wad of paper towels stuffed underneath his apron tie in order to keep the sweat from rolling off his neck and onto the grill.
I felt trapped, but couldn't tell what mrguy thought. Maybe he was seeing some local charm in this and wanted to stick it out? He did not. We left, and as we walked out the door Dana made some crack about us.
Then I asked mrguy if we could eat at Subway. I wanted something completely predictable. Besides, I wanted to get there before they ran out of that yoga mat bread!