Tag Archives: diners

Denny’s in Vestal, NY

Frank's seat at Denny's in Vestal, New York

Frank's seat at Denny's in Vestal, New York

Today is the first anniversary of my father’s death, thus, the theme of this entry is coffee.  I’ll take this opportunity to write something about the Denny’s in Vestal, New York, he went to for coffee every morning  for years and years, as well as The Lost Dog in Binghamton, New York, the cafe/restaurant he frequented nightly for coffee until he felt like he looked so bad he shouldn’t go anymore, which, of course, was ridiculous, but such is the burden of vanity.  I can’t fathom the amount of coffee he drank in a day during the time he went to both places and also brewed pots at home, but his blood must have been 100% French roast.  Denny’s (4024 Vestal Parkway East, Vestal) is across the street from Binghamton University and usually crammed with people, but the staff always made a fuss over my dad, since he had forged relationships with these people via daily contact over time.  Whenever I was in town the fuss was extended to me, which was great.  This meant lots of good conversation, great buffalo chicken strips and about 5 times the Denny’s-approved amount of hot fudge on the sundae I would sometimes have as my meal.  Many of the servers were studying this or that or were artists needing to make some actual money.  Several were part-timers caring for families.  Pretty quickly I knew all their stories and they knew mine, though they had a head’s up since my dad filled them in over the years.  Toward the end the old man was not looking or sounding too good, having trouble simply sitting up for periods of time or going into coughing jags, but there was never a problem.  This group of employees was the tops, managers included, and I’ll always have a place in my heart for Denny’s, though the one here in El Cerrito, CA cannot hold a candle to the Vestal location in terms of, well, anything.  I include here a photo of my dad’s regular counter spot, which now has a laminated tribute to him taped to the counter, and one of two fabulous people who work there.  Next, The Dog.  He went to The Lost Dog (222 Water Street, Binghamton), which is hip and young, because he, himself, was hip, a former musician, and attracted to innovation – particularly in technology.  While he enjoyed his workaday coffees during the day, he moonlighted with baristas.  He liked especially to argue politics and social issues, and it seems the staff of The Lost Dog was happy to engage in this, though it occasionally turned ugly.  He would often say things just to rile a person up, often taking the opposite position just to see what came of it.  I knew this so I wouldn’t take the bait, but not everyone did.  When the people working at “The Dog,” as my dad called it, found out he was ill, they all sprang into action and took a Saturday to physically move him from his old apartment to his new one, the chef getting her truck in gear and the cooks and others, including one of the owners and the catering manager, hauling stuff down three flights of stairs, across town, and into his new elevated studio.  All this while being subjected to various instructions and comments from my father, who made even the simplest task next to impossible by virtue of his personality and apparent desire to be the biggest pain in the ass in town.  I suppose he had earned enough credit with these folks – and they must have seen who he really was underneath all that drama.  And that damned printer!  Before and during the move he fixated on his older Epson inkjet printer for fear someone would tilt and damage it.  He had some sort of system going where he filled up the cartridges himself, and if the thing wasn’t held level something would come undone in there.  I had to hear this every time I even went near it.  I offered to buy a new printer, but he wanted THAT printer, since he enjoyed the whole upkeep routine.  OK, whatever.  I started going to The Dog when I arrived in town to care for him, and was shown great sympathy and concern by all.  They told me my dad would spend hours in there writing in his journal – and always left a $2.00 tip when all he had was coffee.  He liked interesting young women, this much I knew, and The Dog has plenty of them.  And fun.  I could see why he whiled away time at his regular counter spot.  It is a fact that I would not be able to enumerate the things The Lost Dog’s Marie and Nicole did during the last few months of my father’s life – essentially acting as surrogate daughters and putting up with the full force of that big personality, which did not wane as his body weakened.  And as his body weakened there was no weakening in his desire for coffee.  Coffee was a key theme in his life from beginning to end, and is often the first thing that comes to mind when I remember him.

Staff at Denny's in Vestal, New York

Castro Street Festival

Castro Street Festival in SF in 2007

Castro Street Festival in SF in 2007

Matt went to the Castro Street Festival today with friends Ross and Ken.  He’s been hopping over to SF every weekend for this or that event and then having a bite over there and reporting back on quality.  Today they stopped in at Slider’s Diner (449 Castro Street, SF) for burgers and thought they were pretty good.  Matt told me that Welcome Home had closed, which is too bad since we went there often when we first moved here in 1995.  They met up with Gino Ramos later in the day and went over to the Dignity service in the Sunset to connect with Gino’s partner, Paul Riofski.  Paul schlepped them south to have dinner at Harry’s Hofbrau (1297 Chess Drive, Foster City).  Harry’s = big hunks of meat.  You can get a serious turkey or roast beast groove on at Harry’s while feeling like you stepped back in time.  This must be the only place you can get a side of carrot and raisin salad with your Swiss steak, and where your mashed potatoes happily swim under a lake of gravy.

Rico’s in Oakland

Rico's diner in oakland california

Matt and I had lunch at Rico’s in Oakland.  Rico’s (400 15th Street, Oakland) is billed as a diner, but it is not really a diner inasmuch as it is a fun, hip place to eat.  It is a long, thin room with a “your first apartment” kind of decor.  There is also a wall o’ license plates.  You order at the counter and they bring the food to you.  Matt and I were looking for a real diner and were, at first, disappointed by the space and setup, but we were soon convinced that we were in a good place when we heard that most everything was made from scratch – including the fries.  Hello?  Could this be?  No 20 ton bags of blanched fries from Sysco hanging out in the freezer?  Matt ordered the Philly cheesesteak with fries.  No matter how many times he has been burned by ordering this sandwich in the Bay Area, he just cannot help himself.  I give up.  I requested the chicken steak with cream gravy sandwich.  It was all good.  The chicken on my sandwich was a large piece of breast meat that had been battered and deep fried.  It was all peppery and moist and sat under some cream gravy on an Acme roll.  Yumster.  Matt’s cheesesteak turned out to be thin slices of actual steak that had been griddled with onion and parked on an Acme roll melded with fluorescent cheese.  Said cheese was also on the first-rate fries.  You don’t believe me about the cheese?  Look at the unretouched photo.  They used great meat for the sandwich and were knowledgeable enough about the real deal to use bad cheese product!  Hooray!  After eating I wanted to wash my hands and needed to go through the kitchen to get to the rest room.  The kitchen was clean as can be and so was the restroom.  Nice place and nice people.

Cheesesteak at Rico's in Oakland

Cheesesteak at Rico's in Oakland

The elections and Gilman Grill

Matthew as a candidate for berkeley city college student senate

Today my mom and I went sniffing around the election taking place at Berkeley City College where Matt is making his political debut.  We came upon his name and statement on the glass board, and saw him hovering around the poll booths some set number of feet back, as is the requirement.  Other candidates were also locking in their last minute votes.  It was fun to see his name and platform description in the official voter guide, but we were not able to procure a ballot without a student ID.  I explained that I am the mother of a candidate, and that this sort of trumps any nonsense about having to be a student, but no cigar.  Since Matt had a couple of hours off between classes we were happy to drive over to Gilman Grill (1300 4th Street, Berkeley), where you can get a decent lunch for about ten bucks, to meet Paul Riofski for lunch.  Paul and my mom really like Gilman Grill, particularly the BLT with avocado on toasted Acme sourdough bread.  I agree that this is the best BLT for miles and miles, with plenty of thick bacon and tomato, but there is something about the place that bugs me, and I think I might have honed it down to noise and crowds.  I can’t really put my finger on it.  The chairs are also not all that comfy, but I can deal with that.  The food is good so I suppose this is just lack of chemistry, like not wanting to sleep with someone who has all the right qualifications.  They have solid breakfast items, though the home fries can be bad on occasion — sodden and flavorless.  The sandwiches and salads at lunch are tasty and generous, but take care with the bread.  If you don’t tell them to use the Acme sourdough or one of their other hearty breads you may not be amused.  I like the grilled chicken with melted cheese and mushrooms.  One annoying thing we noticed today is that they squared off the ends of the bread.  The bread is sliced from a rustic loaf and yields an elongated result.  Squaring off means that the poor bastard who ordered the sandwich loses a few inches of bread and, most likely, filling.  I know of no other reason a restaurant would do this other than to save money.  Maybe they use those ends for croutons, who knows, but any explanation like, “It is easier to make a sandwich without the ends” is suspect.  I did not ask, so I am just conjecturing here.  They need to understand how bad it is, business-wise, to change a long-standing menu item that people expect will always be the same, always be good and always have the ends of the bread intact.

The Embers in Pinole

Matt and I drove up to Pinole today to take a look around and have lunch.  We wound up eating at The Embers (600 San Pablo Avenue), since I wanted to try to get the roast beef sandwich I saw my neighbor enjoying the last time I was there having a dish I didn’t care for.   I spent that whole meal craning my neck to examine the sandwich and being slightly pissed off about my chicken.  My family and friends know very well that I have a tendency to start in when I think someone else’s food looks better than mine.  What might start out as an idle comment can quickly turn into a meal-long whine.  My friend Paul and I often order the same thing when we eat out, since we share this unappetizing trait, in fact.  The Embers, a kitschy kind of diner that specializes in BBQ, is uneven in terms of quality, but we were willing to give it another go.  The lunch menu offered a French dip au jus for $8.95, which seemed about right, so I ordered it.  The friendly server asked me how I wanted my meat.  “Rare!”  This was a sign that there was actually a piece of beast roasting in the kitchen, and I became giddy.  Turns out this was the best French dip I ever had.  Lots of hand-carved sirloin, really rare, the way I like it, served with a cup of beef tea for dipping and some decent from-frozen — I think — fries.  Matt had the chicken fried steak again and. while he liked it, it didn’t look like great shakes to me.  I’ll be dragging my mom and Steven up there soon.