Fin.

Jab me with a harpoon, I’m [almost] done.  Finito.  Toast.  Fork-tender, dry-rubbed and NY humidity-blanched to perfection.
In French, I’d be “fin” (proper tense and use aside).

It seems fitting that this weekend’s ‘fin’ breakfast(s?) have a fin, of sorts.

We have come here since moving to Huntington.  After school concerts for ice cream, before busy holiday prepping, after band rehearsals, for no reason other than great breakfasts and decent coffee.  And the fries.  Oh, and the salads.

The old guard waitstaff is stereotypical New York diner:  memorized, funny, quirky, exceptionally personable.

I like the counter these days, since the expansion.  And, this morning, between visiting the Town dump to deposit empty wine bottles and going to the house to finish packing, there’s this:

Organic omlette, sweet potato fries, strong coffee and watermelon.

At this rate, I won’t be “fin” for a while.

NOTE:  Five minutes after posting this, I was joined at the counter by a couple, older, chatty.  The man is drenched in aftershave so strong I cannot taste the food without cringing.  omgosh, it’s awful. :-/

Added:  #dontoverdothemanstink 

#dinerlust #breakfast #nylife #ldrforadults #closingthegap #Huntington_NY

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