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“Home is where they know how you like your breakfast.”—my grandmother (who made a great breakfast)

We’re in Boston today and the Hub wanted to go to Wilson’s in Waltham for breakfast.

Wilsons, a classic New England diner, was built by the Worcester Lunch Car Company as #819, and was delivered to this site by the company in March 1949. It’s appeared in films such as Labor Day, and is on the National Register of Historic Places.

The owner, Arthur, was at his grill—as he’s been seven days a week for the past three decades—when we came in and headed for a booth.

He handed across a pair of menus, and fixed a stern eye on the Hub. “You know your job young man? You gotta get whatever she wants, and you gotta pay.”  Cash only, of course.

As we studied the book-sized menu, a new customer took a seat on one of the round stools.

“Tree eggs wid bacon AND sausage,” he called out as Arthur slid a cup of coffee in front of him. “White bread.”

He took our order, and a minute later two huge blueberry pancakes were in front of us. We’d barely cut into them, when the rest of the food arrived.

“So fast!” I marveled. “And it all looks wonderful.”
He beamed at me. “I usually keep lollypops for beautiful customers. But…” he pretended to give the Hub a worried look. “He’s pretty big and I’m just a handsome short Greek. Maybe better not…”

A young couple came in and ordered. Arthur piled the plates on the bar and called to the young man. “My waitress she’s not here yet so you get plates. No discount. I’m a poor Greek.”

Two more men got up leave and one pulled out his wallet. Arthur shook his head sadly. “If I’d known you were the one paying, I would have charged more. You’re rich enough.” He sighed mournfully. “Too late now.”

When it was time for us to pay, Arthur made a big show of hitting the keys on his ancient cash register. “Hear that sound? Is sound of a happy Greek.”

Now THAT’S what I call a proper breakfast!

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