Kathy's

“Can I buy you breakfast?” asks Jim Saturday morning.

There’s something vaguely sexy about that, I think.

And when a man offers to buy you breakfast, you should always say yes.

So we’re off to Kathy’s Diner.
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Kathy’s is a good old-fashioned in-the-middle-of-downtown, sit-at-the-counter and watch the cook cookin’ kinda diner.

You walk through the narrow green doorway and it smells just like a diner ought to: Cinnamon and butter and bacon and eggs and toast and dark, rich coffee.

Kathy is there with her salt and pepper hair, warm smiling eyes, and that grandmotherly way with everyone. She’s rather short and slightly roundish (as all grandmothers ought to be) and she offers you coffee while you wait for a seat.

The coffee mugs, like the rest of the place, are seasonal. On Saturday, the Christmas decorations are still up and so the mug Kathy hands to Jim has a Christmas tree on it. At Kathy’s you’ll get your coffee in an Easter mug in the spring and a Halloween mug in October.

And when it’s not covered with Christmas or Halloween or Easter decorations, the shelf that runs the entire length of the diner high on the back wall, is covered with bicycle knick-knacks and artwork.

The logo for Kathy’s is one of those old-fashioned bikes with the big wheel out front. The busy, bustling employees wear either green or yellow shirts with the Kathy’s Diner bicycle exactly where a logo ought to be on a shirt.

The diner is near the bike trail that runs along the river through our town. Thus the bikes.

There are only seven stools at the curvy counter and maybe 10 tables, tops. But people tend to move through quickly – on the way to start their day running errands or whatever – and the wait is never more than 15 minutes.

We usually sit at the counter. It’s the best.
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“Is this okay?” asks Jim, always checking to make sure I’m where I want to be.

“It’s perfect,” I say, because it is.
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The grill is the heart and soul of the diner and Phillip the cook keeps it ticking.

“When I first bought this place seven years ago, I was really struggling to make it work,” said Kathy. “Phillip came for an interview, saw me at the grill and said ‘Let me try.’ That was it – he’s been there ever since.”

Phillip is squat and dark and Mexican, and rarely looks away from the grill. It’s by necessity, of course, but I usually catch him turning around once or twice to flash a smile at his hungry customers.

There’s a flow to Phillip and his grill. Everything he does is effortless, everything moving along according to the hand-written orders hanging above the grill.

He keeps an eye on the pile of slow-cooking hash browns in the back corner. Omelets are bubbling in the back left. Bacon and sausage and pancakes are to the front. Plus, he’s got skillets going on the stove next to the grill.
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We're lucky today: Seats at the counter right in front of the grill. It's the best place to sit and watch Phillip work his magic while listening to Kathy's easy banter with her customers.

As for Jim and me, we have the same conversation every time. I think I’ll get a skillet. Maybe I’ll get a pancake. What about French toast?

And then of course we usually order the usual. The waitress (because that's what they ought to be called in a diner, waitresses) with the unbelievably long braid down below her waist takes our order.

“Ham and cheese omelet, wheat toast, please” I say.

“Sausage and cheese omelet, white toast,” says Jim.

The braid lady rushes off to help someone else and Jim is already searching through the little plastic jelly organizer on the counter. He’s looking for the red strawberry jelly packs for me because he knows that a) I’m like Rain Man when it comes to strawberry jelly on my toast and b) strawberry jelly is sometimes hard to come by.

Sometimes I’m stuck with mixed berries and it’s not the same. Not the same at all.

But not on Saturday. Plenty of my kind of jelly.
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“Warning: Our pancakes are not your average pancakes. We are proud of their size and quality.”

You order just one pancake at Kathy’s. Trust me, it’s the best pancake you’ll ever have. And it’s more than enough.

You gotta love a diner with a pancake warning.
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Before we know it, our breakfast is gone.

Jim leaves a tip under the Christmas tree mug and pays at the register. Kathy is busy giving candy to the kids who are gathered around her like Santa, so we give her a quick wave goodbye.

Then we’re off to start our day running errands or whatever, just like it ought to be.
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I am listening to: The auditors in the conference room
I am reading: Marketing Objectives Q1
And I am: Okay