"Veal cutlet come down and try to beat the shit out of my cup of coffee; coffee just wasn't strong enough to defend itself"
- Tom Waits, intro to "Eggs and Sausage"
When you're happily paired up, a weekend breakfast with a loved one can be an airy delight - for the ambitious, fluffy scrambled eggs, a croissant, hot coffee or chocolate, a slice of fruit and the Sunday crossword, served in bed. The food is half-eaten and shunted to the nightstand; the rest of the morning spent 'twixt the linens, while a gentle breeze ruffles the curtains and slow jazz seeps in from the living room - or hell, toast and juice at the table, wearing sweats.
For those flying solo, breakfast is a lot less likely to resemble a Ward's ad. Whether slopped up after closing time, in the company of drinking buddies or masticated painfully in the morning to the accompaniment of a pounding hangover headache, this breakfast is of a wholly different order: The Big Greasy.
Ihop, Denny's, truck stops. Walker Brothers, the Melrose, the Golden Waffle - we've all been there, whether we want to admit it or not. Eight beers to the wind, you find yourself contemplating a moment frozen in time, a forkload of pancake and yolk-dripping egg, smeared with syrup and fortified by gravy, suspended in front of your face. Even the most health conscious have at some time followed the body's unconscious dictum: Grease follows booze. It may not be as well known as "Feed a fever, starve a cold," or "Beer before liquor" - however those go - but it's there, a genetically imprinted command.
Or, of course, Stacks 'n' Steaks is the only place open at the hour you need it. Hell, I don't know. Or maybe, hung over, you don't want to limp into a nice brunch and blow big money on chow that may only make you blow chow. This is for absorbency, for repairing the damage you've done to your stomach lining drinking those test tube shots at Bamboo Bernie's (why, why were you there?). You struggle, fork over fist, to get it in and get it down, then you go home and lie down. Possibly you pull the covers over your head to hide that spinning ceiling, and forfeit the day.
On those thumbprint-patinated, laminated menus, there's truly something for everyone; save a few regional specialties, we all talk the same breakfast talk, regardless of which state we hail from. (Those of you from other countries, please disregard this part.) Is it any wonder these places spring up along the Interstate like mushrooms in compost?
Eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, ham, hash browns, whole wheat toast that's just white with caramel coloring. Coffee so weak you can drink it all day or night. Mangled containers of half-and-half that litter the table with sweating butter pats, two kinds of jelly and three types of artificial sweetener.
Biscuits and gravy, steak and eggs, pigs in a blanket. Corned beef hash. International offerings like Belgian waffles. Cinnamon rolls frosted with unholy gobs of sugary goo. The crucial menu component of starch and starch - hash browns with your pancakes, toast with your biscuits. Who knows, maybe you'll feel better, take up jogging and really need those carbohydrates. Regional specialties like grits; in my hometown out West, there's a diner where you can order a dish called "He needs 'em," which is calf brains and eggs.
I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that it doesn't really matter where you eat your greasy breakfast. We choose these places for their convenient location, for their hours, or - if we're real aesthetes - for their decor. High-haired waitresses, memorable Formica, sticky chrome. Leatherette is key, and brown tones are comforting.
Greasy breakfasts are so universal that there's almost no point in distinguishing one place as better than the other. You're not there for the wild mushroom quiche; you're there for the Denver omelet. As such, the best choice may be an eatery you wouldn't ordinarily order a different meal from.
Consider, too, selecting by name, for those breakfast spots named after someone tend to be tops: Alexander's, Manny's, Augie's. Denny's is acceptable, if not recommended.
If you're frightened by the specter of arteries that crackle like thin sheets of puddle ice, maybe you should consider getting a date this Valentine's Day.
- Places I've enjoyed the greasy:
Alexander's, 6158 North Clark (773)743-3841
Augie's, 5347 North Clark (773)271-7868
Lake Front Restaurant,, 3042 North Broadway (773)472-9040
Manny's Pancake House, 3418 North Sheffield (773)528-9890
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