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Continued from Page E-8 we went (my friend and I, as I was reluctant to go alone, still harboring my misconceptions of a greasy spoon patronized by tough workingmen, waited upon by equally tough, gum-chewing, hash-slinglng waitresses).
But I was wrong. Polished table tops were spotlessly clean, (a bus boy efficiently takes care of that, and you don’t even have to dump your own trash!). The Kitchen, which on this particular day had been the site of breakfast preparations for an estimated 200 customers, was also immaculate.
A brunch of light and fluffy scrambled eggs was quickly served, with a side order of hot, crisp bacon, for my friend, and for me, an equally light ham omelette with a side order of real fried potatoes, some still (Just like home) with their skins on, well-drained and not tasting as though they had been fried in the same deep fat as everything else in the kitchen.
Except for the fact that I don’t like eating alone, preferring the sociability inherrent in sharing a meal, I would have been perfectly comfortable had I gone to the Frost Diner unaccompanied.
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