Jim Reed
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Full disclosure: I go way back with Oxford. Lived there 30+ years ago, but my first run-in with Carl’s happened even earlier. I still remember stepping inside and realizing I’d found the diner. The chrome, the clatter of dishes, the smell of bacon and coffee—it was like walking into breakfast heaven.
Back then, if you sat at the bar, portions were practically endless. I mean, you didn’t finish the plate so much as wave a white napkin to surrender. These days, the plates aren’t bottomless (thank God, my metabolism retired in the ‘90s), but they’re still massive and the food hasn’t lost a beat. Every bite is a throwback to when diners ruled the map and Sunday breakfast was something you looked forward to all week.
Now here’s the thing—once you’ve had Carl’s, you’ll wonder why anyone lines up at some chain pancake house for food that tastes like it was scraped together in a factory test kitchen. Those places serve “breakfast,” Carl’s serves Breakfast. Capital B. The kind that reminds you why diners became American institutions in the first place.
I still swing through Oxford now and then—sometimes business, sometimes pleasure—but I always carve out time for Carl’s. It’s not just a stop, it’s a destination. Worth the ride, worth the calories, and absolutely worth skipping every chain restaurant along the way.