Last week I took my nephew to Mickey’s Diner for lunch after spending all morning at the Children’s Museum. I think we touched every single thing in the entire place with especially long stops at the bubbles, shipping yard, and ant hill. Both of us were tired and needed to refuel after so much activity.
Mickey’s is a great place to bring kids. It’s the kind of place no one cares if you drop a pancake on to the floor. Hey, look at that, there is a pancake on the floor! Looks like a blueberry pancake beneath the counter stools we chose, and it’s been there for awhile- maybe a day. It’s also the kind of place you could fall asleep from exhaustion with your head on the counter and someone would wake you when your food is ready. If you’re old or cranky you’d get a slap on the head and if you’re young or pretty you’d get a gentle nudge.
I am pretty sure the waitress who took our order was the same waitress who took my order 20 years ago on a drunken college quest for a fried egg sandwich- and even 10 years ago when I brought my eldest nephew here after the museum. That time, we shared a table with a sinewy and heavily tattooed dump truck driver wearing only a leather vest on top. It was a thrill to see him drive off noisily in his huge truck waving at us through the window.
I’d been anticipating eating a fried egg sandwich all day and didn’t need to look at the menu. My nephew chose a grilled cheese- nothing fancy, just American cheese on greasy golden white bread. Mmmmm. We split (okay, I shared a few) an order of fries- well browned and crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. The line cook had been bragging about his pancakes to another counter customer and soon plopped a special child sized one in front of my nephew. It was golden and yeasty and covered with margarine- a lazy day pancake. Delicious. After the pancake quickly disappeared, he plopped a few slices of bacon on the plate. It was a kind gesture and maybe a bit of an act of defiance to the auntie who hadn’t ordered any meat for the poor youngster.
My nephews live in the northern St. Paul suburbs and while there’s more diversity there then when I grew up in Roseville, I happen to think it’s good for them to get a taste of different walks of life. Mickey’s never disappoints to offer an array of characters. The line cook was slinging insults and commentary faster than he was slinging grease, the waitress had a calm, imperturbable demeanor and a dry smile, the bus boy with bright eyes and a quick and easy smile tossed out well practiced questions about my marital status. They had a special dance with each other behind the counter in that tiny narrow space. Behind all the banter their actions showed they cared for each other. And in the short time we were there, they showed extra special care for my young nephew and me- people who appreciate a good grilled cheese and free bacon. And who cares if some of it ends up on the floor?