Sunday Breakfast

Our favorite neighborhood breakfast place just closed (for a move) so we are out for our early Sunday breakfast, looking in other neighborhoods. Today we tried "Dad's Place", tucked into a factory district. Nelson Algren wrote, "Never eat at a place called Mom's", but Dad's was a bit of all right. Very good omelette and American-fry potatoes (baked, then sliced and fried, usually with onions, peppers, etc.) all in the usual midwestern vast quantities. Most of the clientele were enormous beefy men in baseball caps, wearing sports team t-shirts with the arms torn off, although we did see a few other breakfasters from our old place. It was very busy, we were lucky to get a table! In the kitchen two bone-skinny women darted about among stacks of eggs and oranges. Dad was nowhere to be seen.