Boston baked beans. The Boston Tea Party. Manhattan clam chowder. .Clearly this great, historic city loves its food. Why then, does it treat breakfast like it did the British East India Company? At minutes post meridian on two separate occasions, I departed the Doubletree Hotel near Tufts in search of scrambled eggs. A one block radius yielded dismal results; the local restaurants had moved on to lunch! Tufts luck! The Doubletree concierge directed me to Cafe 275, an establishment whose brochure boasted breakfast specials from 9 am - 11 pm. After waiting in a queue for nearly five minutes, I attempted to order the "Sunny Side Sandwich" and was told that my brochure was no longer relevent. The wait staff laughed and pointed at me. The short order cooks joined in and finally the patrons. I shoved my way out of the cafe, tears of humiliation burning my eyes. A sympathetic bus boy stood smoking outside. I told him I was hungry. In a thick Boston brogue, he asked, "Do you like apples?" I replied in the affirmative. He said, "How do ya like them apples?!"
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Boston: The City That Hates Breakfast
Boston baked beans. The Boston Tea Party. Manhattan clam chowder. .Clearly this great, historic city loves its food. Why then, does it treat breakfast like it did the British East India Company? At minutes post meridian on two separate occasions, I departed the Doubletree Hotel near Tufts in search of scrambled eggs. A one block radius yielded dismal results; the local restaurants had moved on to lunch! Tufts luck! The Doubletree concierge directed me to Cafe 275, an establishment whose brochure boasted breakfast specials from 9 am - 11 pm. After waiting in a queue for nearly five minutes, I attempted to order the "Sunny Side Sandwich" and was told that my brochure was no longer relevent. The wait staff laughed and pointed at me. The short order cooks joined in and finally the patrons. I shoved my way out of the cafe, tears of humiliation burning my eyes. A sympathetic bus boy stood smoking outside. I told him I was hungry. In a thick Boston brogue, he asked, "Do you like apples?" I replied in the affirmative. He said, "How do ya like them apples?!"
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Yet another example of the slow decay of baroque East Coast culture, and its inevitable downfall in the face of West Coast "breakfast 24/7" goodness.
Hey, speaking of West Coast, I've been meaning to ask you... are you going to be in Anchorage this summer, particularly between June 23rd and 25th? If so, we should hook up. If not I'll drive by your parents house and cast longing looks.
Post a Comment