Do you see it there? That teensey weensey itty bitty green striped awning between two seemingly monstrous shops?
We'd have never known of it in a million years of not for Brian's obsession with the Food Network.
Now, all those nights snuggled up to Brian and his food network devotions while dreaming of The National or George Strombolopolopolopolopolous seems almost worthwhile.
I didn't need a panoramic to capture the width of the restaurant in nearly its entirity.
The grill fits just there, slightly to the right.
The "please wait to be seated" area is the narrow alleyway behind the fifteen available diner stools.
As people enter Al's, the line-up simply shuffles to the rear of the miniscule diner.
I felt almost insanely happy to not be at Perkins.
And Brian could barely speak. So moved was he by the handmade hollandaise baptizing his eggs benedict.
My walnut and blueberry whole wheat pancakes rendered me speechless also.
Or it might have been the yellow arborite, the ancient red swivel stools, the endless nik naks and memorabilia, or Al- flipping the eggs, just to our right.