"Well. That changes things. Well I tell you, I thought Morocco was a Spanish speaking country."
- From one to neighbor to another. 7th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues in Park Slope.
" I can't--- no.That's just too absurd to discuss at 7am."
-Man on cell phone. 8th Avenue and 22nd Street, Chelsea.
"And they had Manolos! The five-hundred dollar Manolos!"
-Woman walking her Maltese. Sixth Avenue and 23rd St, Chelsea.
Would a $0.20 full breakfast special- and the chance to see a friend who you've been out of touch with for a few months- get you out of bed at 5:00am? My alarm went off, already? And I pulled on some jeans, Frye Boots. The Eastman coat by Brooklyn Industries. A scarf. Where are my caramel colored gloves? The wind added a bitter chill as I waited at the outdoor 4th Avenue F train station. I met Brittain at Cafe Havana for the Recession Breakfast: Coffee with steamed whole milk, sugar. Two eggs: scrambled or fried. Ham or Bacon. Home fries and toast. Diner quality with a hint of butter on the eggs, we took our bites with hot sauce and begged for glasses of ice water. But can you complain for a mere twenty cents? The food came quickly, the staff certainly had a system down. A guy on toast, another on coffee. A woman rhythmically steamed pot after pot of milk. A few food runners called out: Bacon! Ham! Fried! A salty man perked up next to me, "Ketchup?"
"Yes, please."
He pushed his hat aside on the counter and lifted the bottle to me.
I dropped a dollop in the center of my plate, caught up with Brittain. Discourse on the economy, her new $1100 rent controlled studio with community bathroom. "I can't believe I got this place! It can't be legal! But I can stay there as long as I want."
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For Cafe Havana and other recession deals, navigate here.
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