Liz, Sean, Matt and I are standing in line outside Al's Breakfast, a 10-foot wide diner sandwiched into an alleyway between two buildings in the Dinkytown neighborhood of Minneapolis, MN. The cold weather really has me questioning my sons' belief in global warming, and the wisdom of waiting more than 20 minutes for pancakes and eggs. But ever since Matt attended the University of Minnesota, he has raved about Al's Breakfast. So it's just bad luck that we picked one of the coldest days of the new year to check it out.
The Dinkytown neighborhood is located just north of the University of Minnesota East Campus and populated by locals and university students. Through the years, it has been a central area for the 1950s beat culture, the 1960s counterculture and the 1970s anti-Vietnam movement. In Dinkytown, notable landmarks include the Dinky Dome, the Loring Pasta Bar (rumored to have been where Bob Dylan lived for a short time), the Varsity Theatre and Al's Breakfast, possibly the smallest restaurant in Minneapolis. Twentieth-century, low-rise buildings surround us on this cold morning, with hardly a frozen breath in sight.
"I thought if we got here 20 minutes early we'd be good," says Matt, as puffs of white escape his mouth, only to be swished away with another gust of arctic air. "But by my estimate, we still aren't going to be able to get a seat right away."
Matt explains that Al's Breakfast only seats fourteen, so I begin counting the huddled bodies waiting to get in out of the cold. Sure enough -- we are numbers fifteen through eighteen, so I guess Matt is right.
Matt explains that Al's Breakfast only seats fourteen, so I begin counting the huddled bodies waiting to get in out of the cold. Sure enough -- we are numbers fifteen through eighteen, so I guess Matt is right.
What is it about diners that make them such a draw? Even on a cold January morning?
Since their arrival in the late 1800s, diners have been part of the American experience. Their influence has touched so many parts of our lives, including cooking, eating out, popular culture, design and television/movies, that it's hard to overlook.
The origins of the diner can be traced to Walter Scott, who supplemented his income by selling sandwiches and coffee. Fourteen years later, with business becoming so lucrative, Scott quit his job as a part-time pressman and started selling food at night from a covered express wagon outside his old employer, The Providence Journal. In doing so, Walter Scott gave birth to what would become one of America's most recognized icons --the diner.
Through the years, diners have "evolved" from Scott's simple lunch wagon to something much more elaborate (although certainly not elegant). In the early 1900s, lunch cars became larger and more self-contained, with lengthy counters, mid-side entrances, tile work, porcelain panels and even bathrooms. Although they continued to cater to night workers, many lunch cars assumed permanent locations which allowed around-the-clock customers and greater respectability. Companies, seeing potential in these new permanent structures, brought new styling which included that of the railroad's Pullman dining cars, giving birth to the name diner.
During this period of growth, the main streets of America were also changing. With the popularity of Henry Ford's automobile, new eateries popped up as road construction boomed. Food stands like A&W and White Castle -- catering to the automobile -- could be found spouting up everywhere.
During the Great Depression, tough times meant small diners started to replace the larger complex diners which were too expensive to maintain. These 8 to 10 person diners -- simple and boxy -- were often carted to certain locations just like Walter Scott's original lunch wagons. The food was nothing special, but people came for good food and fun.
In the years following, diners continued to evolve. Much of their charm was enchanted by art-deco designs featuring modern, futuristic lines and colors. Many used neon (which was new at the time) to draw attention and create interest. During the next 50 years, diners reached new heights before falling out of favor to homogenized food chains like McDonalds and Burger King.
Nonetheless, diners continued to have a nostalgic appeal popping up in movies like American Graffiti and Diner. Television brought us Flo and Happy Days, which lasted for many years. A famous painting by Edward Hopper called "Nighthawks" is based on a diner in Philadelphia, and shows a lonely encounter between a man and waitress late in the night.
Fortunately a few real-life diners survived -- and through the efforts of some to restore and preserve them, are still with us today.
There is something inherently different -- but fun -- about going into a diner. Almost like its free entertainment. If it's not the employees or food, maybe it's the nostalgia. There's a sense of going back in time when you walk into one -- the round stools, the cooking appliances so black with use that it's a wonder they still work, and all of the memorabilia unique to the owner's guests and visitors.
Don't expect any wi-fi hotspots, or polite conversation. For the most part, regulars are acknowledged, but not patronized. Menus are simple and don't change much. Noises from the kitchen sometimes sound like a war zone -- complete with shouting and utensils flying through the air. For its entertainment value, expect to spend as much time watching the staff as eating the food.
Diners are not only unique in the food they serve and the environment under which they operate. Many also employ a unique vocabulary -- diner talk is as much fun to hear as it is a mystery to understand. Who knows where some of this vocabulary comes from, but it is incredibly creative and transcends race, gender and age.
Adam and Eve on a raft: two poached eggs on toast
Angels on Horseback: oysters rolled in bacon and served on toast
Beagle Fingers: sausage links
Blowout patches: pancakes
Burn the British: toasted English muffin
Cowboy with spurs: western omelet with French fries
Drag it through the garden: sandwich with all condiments on it
Dry stack: pancakes without butter
Gentleman will take a chance: a plate of hash
Hold the grass: sandwich without lettuce
Let it walk: an order to go
Mousetrap: cheese sandwich
Nervous pudding: American jelly
Paint it red: put ketchup on a dish
Radio sandwich: tuna fish
Soup jockey: waitress
Spit in the eye: egg fried in the center of a holed out piece of bread
Walk a cow through the garden: hamburger with lettuce, tomato and onion
I wonder if any of the employees find it hard to turn off this language when they leave work? Or does the waitress, during a night on the town, walk into the bar and say, "Hey baserunner. Give me some balloon juice with a ball of fire. And do you have any belly furniture to go with that?"
The bearded man behind the counter instructs us to wait a moment while two men get out of their seats and shuffle to the left, allowing us to sit next to Sean and Matt who were already sitting at the counter with menus in hand."Finally," I say. "I'm starving, and standing behind people eating only makes it worse." Because Al's Breakfast diner is so narrow, customers who are not eating must wait while standing patiently behind those eating at the counter.
In the kitchen (out of sight), a short-order cook yells, "Order up, John! Jose with wheat on #2." Shortly, a plate with two poached eggs with cheese, hash browns and salsa is placed before a customer sitting nearby.
Having waited 20 minutes for a seat, I've been able to take in the eclectic atmosphere of Al's which includes cheap, hanging Tiffany lamps embraced by strings of white Christmas lights above the counter where we are sitting. On the wall before us is a greasy collection of foreign bills from Russia, Saudi Arabia, India, Portugal and other countries I can't identify. Above a line of ceramic mugs, is a shelf with a sign that reads "Tipping is NOT a city in Russia." Next to it is a jumbled mess of toys, books, a Daryl Strawberry bobble head and a picture of Al Bergstrom, the original owner of Al's Breakfast. Al sold the diner to his nephew before he died in 2003 at the age of 97, but his menu of buttermilk pancakes, bacon waffles, hash browns and eggs remain today.
"Try the Spike, Dad. It's really good," says Matt. He probably knows the menu by heart, which by its laminated condition, hasn't changed in decades. "Their pancakes are incredible, too."
As I glance through the menu, I notice another short-order cook to our right pouring pancake batter onto a sizzling grill already populated with hash browns, eggs and some hash. She seems oblivious to the line of faces peering through the diner's only window. Undoubtedly, she could make these orders in her sleep. Her apron, at one time bleached white, is now stained with the remnants of many mornings spent standing in front of a hot grill.
"Look at those tickets, " says Liz, pointing to a tray of yellow pads of paper with names marked by magic marker. As chaotic as it seems, they are arranged alphabetically (A-Z). Some look like they are used regularly, while others are stored in crates. Some names I recognize, like Cory Brewster and Andre Hollins from the Minnesota men's basketball team. Others simply say, "Jew Boy" and affectionately, "Alyssa (smart ass)".
"Those are coupons for regulars, so they don't have to pay every time they come in," says Matt, who appears to have gotten more than just a college education while going to the University of MN. By my estimate there are quite a few regulars besides Matt who call Al's Breakfast home.
As Liz and I place our orders (I eschew Matt's recommendation and instead order short stack of blueberry pancakes and toast), I find it hard to believe so many people would willing wait in line for up to two hours -- just for pancakes and eggs. But for those who live in this neighborhood, there is a fierce loyalty to Al's Breakfast that goes beyond the food. Perhaps they are like the village peasants who take up arms to defend the castle against marauding intruders. It may not be much, but it is theirs. And it will remain theirs until they graduate or move away.
Or perhaps this hole in the wall is nothing more than a place where people can enjoy a simple breakfast. One that will get them through a morning of classes or a day filled with the challenges of a new job. To those coming to Al's Breakfast, they know what to expect. No surprises here.
But for a visitor like me, I kinda like what Food Network's Guy Fieri called it when visiting Al's Breakfast for his television show, Diners, Drive Ins and Dives: "A dump simply aspiring to be a dive."
Yeah -- I'll agree with that, and give me another cup of mud while you're at it.
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