In Praise of the Perfect Diner Breakfast

"On the main corner in Greenport on the North Fork of Long Island, my favorite diner is a small, ramshackle place I’ve always called simply “the diner,” though after Googling I see it may actually be called Crazy Beans (?!). I’ve been going long enough to notice changes in ownership and décor; right now it leans into a ’50s-kitsch, Diners, Drive-ins and Dives chic with a few nautical touches, and its retro sign merely reads “restaurant.” I go for Giant Diner Breakfasts: stacks of pancakes with pats of butter between each layer and syrup spilling down the sides; eggs over easy beside corned-beef hash; giant French-toast slabs dusted with powdered sugar; home fries of pan-fried potatoes and thin-sliced onions; tiny rods of breakfast sausage; enormous American-style omelettes browned outside and stuffed with peppers, onions, cheddar, bacon, spinach, mushrooms, or whatever you want; giant mugs of medium-strength coffee that are constantly refilled; and those perfect triangles of diner toast that steam a little on the way to the table so they’re both crunchy and a bit soggy. The rituals matter too—the uncertainty of whether you pay the server or at a register, the din of strangers, the hour-long wait for a busy breakfast—all part of an experience that I can’t replicate with takeout or at home, and that I find myself daydreaming about constantly, especially now that sit-down dining is unavailable." - Alan Sytsma