You don’t hear about them as often as you used to, but from time to time, there are still Elvis sightings. Some poor schlamozel, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep will call in to a radio talkshow and report seeing the King in a diner somewhere in Oshkosh, Wisconsin at four in the morning. The fact that these reports are invariably received with scorn and disbelief does not detract from the possibility that they could be true.
It says something profound about the city of Manchester or the Red Arrow Diner or myself that I did NOT see Elvis at the diner last Thursday at 4 a.m. I saw Ché Guevara.
I understand that the odds against the Cuban revolutionary actually being in the Red Arrow Diner are slim at best. After all, he has be dead since 1967. Nevertheless, I’m reasonably certain that I saw him – black beret and all – in a booth by the door as I staggered into the Red Arrow way, way way too early and found a seat at the counter. I decided not to say anything to him. My reasoning was that if he was not Ché Guevara, I’d look like an idiot, and if, on the off-chance that he had come back from the other side to roam the earth, searching for the perfect plate of gravy-fries, he certainly didn’t need to be distracted by me.
I decided not to dabble in metaphysics any further, but ordered my breakfast immediately. To my mind, there are three perfect diner meals – 1) Meatloaf, peas, mashed potatoes, hot, black coffee and strawberry-rhubarb pie, 2) An over-sized stack of blueberry pancakes with hashbrowns or 3) what I know from the start I would end up ordering: two scrambled eggs (soft), coffee and a grilled bagel.
It’s important to understand the reasoning behind this order. The eggs can’t be cooked too much; it’s important that they retain their moist, fluffy texture and sloppiness. It is vital that the bagel be grilled, not toasted, in order to get the perfect counterpoint of salty-greasy-crispiness and doughy, chewy substantialness. (What can I say? I take my breakfasts seriously.)
I have to admit that I told my waitress all this with a sense of embarrassment. I didn’t want to come across as being too picky. I quickly learned however, that by Red Arrow standards, my order scored pretty low on the pickiness scale. The man next to me ordered a western sandwich, specifying quarter-inch cubes of hame, not to fatty, with hashbrowns – cheese sauce on the side – and (he was emphatic about this) no parsley!
Say what you will about ordering breakfast at four in the morning – your food arrives in about a minute and a half. I got my food while it was still piping hot and I have to say that it was nearly perfect. The Red Arrow passes the bagel and eggs test. I would have liked the coffee to have been a little stronger, but I couldn’t stop drinking it, so it couldn’t have been that bad.
The food was so good in fact, that I missed Ché when he left.
