Detroit Eatery

I had the most memorable birthday dinner exactly seven months ago -- yes yes, it was so memorable that it took me seven months to write about it. My closest roommates, a boy I wanted to call steady, and an entire diner to ourselves. Bacon and eggs -- perfectly done -- with a chocolate shake to wash it all down. Pecan pie for dessert.
Stopped into the Detroit Eatery for a long overdue meal this morning. Ordered my usual. I almost cried when I saw how beautiful the plate looked. Wish I had my camera. Eggs over medium, bacon limp and floppy, three bright red slices of tomato staring straight up at me. It really shouldn't be that difficult for a restaurant to make, and yet this is the only place that gets it right. Every time. Slurp-worthy coffee in a cup on a little matching saucer where my spoon can rest. Breakfast at Detroit is what I miss most about living off the Danforth.


Sicilian Sidewalk Café

A flower vendor places two roses on our table.
"No thanks."
"He bought these for you."

We look over and see an old man with a walker, a few tables over. We try to make eye contact with him, but he is too absorbed in his Insalata Caprese to notice. As we leave the patio, we go up to thank him.
"Are these from you?"
"I sure hope so!"
"Thank you..."
"It's my pleasure. You two were the loveliest ladies on the patio -- I do hope to see you soon..."
"We do come here quite often -- this place is great for people-watching."
"Oh I like people-watching too. Especially women-watching!"

"Of course..."
"Let me tell you something: my grandmother was a woman; my mother was a woman; my wife -- we were married 25 years -- was a woman; my five sisters, they're all women. I've been lucky to have known so many beautiful women."
"Your wife was lucky to have such an adoring husband"
"She was, she was. And I was such a lucky man. 25 years."

Had any other College Street schmo sent us flowers, we would have rolled our eyes at the total cheeseball move. But we were charmed by the frail old man who smiled a sweet sigh at the mention of his wife. Funny how during his younger days of courtship, a gesture like that might have made a girl blush -- but now it just seems creepy/desperate. When did we become so jaded?