Bill’s

I got a real soft spot for diners. Back home in Binghamton there’s a plethora of these homey, formica-laden joints run by Greeks who serve uncomplicated meals for a criminally small amount of money. Think meals for two for twelve dollars including coffee and tip. There’s not a ton of variance in the execution of the basic formula but it’s always exciting to see how Rolando’s home fries differ from those at Chris’s Diner or what kind of sausage is the house’s sacred pig.

Thing is we ain’t got many of em in New York. Generic diner food is as much a niche as any of the other insanely specific cuisines and in that world it’s one of the less interesting draws. A benefit of this lack of inherent popularity is that your local diner is populated by locals. Largely these are people who took no special trip outside a short stroll and hence generic diners are rarely totally full-up.

And so it was on a Monday morning at Bill’s. My companion and I were quickly sat at a light-orange (formica) table. The menu had the usual suspects: eggs, potatoes, french toast, pancakes, bacon, sausages. I had an easy time choosing eggs sunnyside-up with sausage and hashbrowns, my compatriot the french toast. We realized the establishment was cash-only so my friend left to acquire cash.

We figured we’d have time if he left immediately. Wrong. As the waitress returned with the coffee we ordered she also had our meals. So I ate. The sausage was fine. The potatoes lacked any alium seasoning, leaning exclusively on paprika. The eggs were well done. My guy’s french toast was done on some chintzy white bread but with enough butter and corn-maple-syrup to be palatable. I finished my meal before he returned.

We paid fourteen dollars for the pleasure of joining Bill’s Monday crew. I’d go back, if I were in the area.