That's diner-speak for Bromo Seltzer. Adam & Eve on a raft - wreck 'em, Noah''s boy on bread, walk a cow through the garden and pin a rose on it. These evocative phrases epitomize the golden age of diners
(For those less fluent in diner-speak: two scrambled eggs on toast, a ham sandwich and a hamburger with lettuce, tomato and onion.)
Diners evolved from 19th century, horse-drawn lunch carts. In the early 20th century, entrepreneurs bought discarded railroad dining cars, set them down on an undeveloped parcel of land and started serving up the kitchen sweepings (a plate of hash).
As a kid, Sunday morning after mass, the family would end up at one of the local diners. The Diamond Diner (originally the Grove Street Diner), the Collmont, the Oaklyn Diner, Ponzio's were all within three miles of our house. Once I had a driver's license, I could expand my diner dalliance to Olga's, the Brooklawn and the Melrose (Everybody who knows goes to Melrose).
Open 24-hours, diners provide sanctuary and a hot meal any time of day. I would sit nursing my cup of hi-test (black coffee), picking at Eve with a lid on it (apple pie), or cackle fruit with pigs (eggs and bacon) waiting for sunrise.
Alone in a booth reading the ubiquitous newspaper, I felt like a figure in Edward Hopper's Nighthawks. Instead of loneliness, or melancholy, I felt security and warmth. I'd people watch for hours on end fabricating situations and back-stories for those I observed.
As the man said in the old news reels, time marches on...but the diner remains. I'm heading down to my local eatery to get a heart attack on rack (biscuits & gravy). As ever - BB
"In a restaurant one is both observed and unobserved. Joy and sorrow can be displayed and observed "unwittingly," the writer scowling naively and the diners wondering, "What the hell is he doing?" " - David Mamet
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