Natalie and I left in the late morning to begin our journey northward, buying such essentials as kolaches at the Czech stop and LoneStar for our Bostonian friends (I don't know how they survive without it!). After that it was driving nonstop for 4 days, the second of which we were engulfed ALL day by a gnarly thunderstorm. On the 3rd day we experienced, what I deemed, a sign from god.
After a frost bitten, dinnerless, and sleepless night spent illegally camping in the cold Pennsylvania woods and an even colder, darker morning spent getting away from the scene of the crime, we were famished. I must've dreamt of eggs, and Natalie of hashbrowns, for all we could think of was getting a deliciously greasy diner breakfast. Each diner billboard left us drooling, though we somehow managed to miss every exit leading to a Cracker Barrel or truck stop restaurant. Frustrated and and fed up with no
t being fed, we pulled off to try our luck in the tow
n of Bethlehem. Heading for what we hoped was the main street, we hit a little congestion on the tiny two lane road. Lucky for us, we saw to our left a shining beacon of hope- a little old diner, surrounded by a herd of parked cars. Through the window I I saw an old, grey-haired woman sipping a cup of coffee, perfectly framed by wood and the name of the diner: Chris's Cafe. Natalie and I turned to each other, grinning. Perfect.
We pulled in as more senior citizens labored towards their parked cars and got some stares, probably in no small part due to the bike strapped to the top of the car and the two haggard looking young folk in the front seats. Nevertheless, we braved the strange looks and opened the door to what seemed heaven; a small, clean, cozy interior with a handful of little tables, middle aged waitresses and a cheerful chubby aproned
cook behind a barstool counter. Once again the patrons, aging and with varying degrees of hair loss, turned to stare at our unfamiliar presence, but we were so giddy with delight we hardly cared that we stood out like two sore thumbs. Plopping down at a table, we admired our surroundings while purusing the black and white menu above the the counter (the kind where you can change out the letters and numbers!) The little clusters of people soon returned to their chatting and socializing with the other regulars.
Our waitress, kind and friendly but not overly so, brought us two strong, hot cups of coffee and menus. For Nat, Chris's special: 2 eggs, hashbrowns (perfectly done), toast, and scrapple, a strange sausage-like thing fried like a pancake with a mushy center- $4.95. For me, a cheesy veggie omelet with hashbrowns and toast- $4.95. As we sat groaning over our food, Chris himself came out to greet some nearby regulars. He was at least 80, still donning a cooks' apron and shuffling around slowly in shiny black leather sh
oes. We finished our meals, completely and utterly satisfied, nursing our coffee and reluctant to leave such a pristine place. I went up to pay a waitress, who was sharing what sounded like some juicy gossip with another at the register, and we chatted about Texas and Massachusetts and scrapple.
The old woman I had seen under the sign was still there, alone, sipping her coffee, but just as we headed out a woman, obviously her daughter, came in to meet her with a kiss on the cheek. May Chris's live on!
No comments:
Post a Comment