Nothing Could Be Finer Than The Highland Park Diner In The Morning!

There is nothing like uncovering a local road food gem.  Jackie's new residence in Rochester has opened up the possibility of endless discoveries on the roads to Western New York.  I had read about a diner in the Rochester area that was marked as a must go, but a previous attempt to enter the neon box car was thwarted by a nine o'clock closing time. (How can a diner close at 9:00?).  On my most recent trip to see Jackie, we decided to make effort to visit the diner from Sunday morning breakfast. 

A little removed from downtown Rochester the Highland Park Diner (960 Clinton Avenue South, Rochester NY, 14620)  is not located in what can be described as a bustling neighborhood.  As we pulled up, it became apparent that its' small parking lot was a no go.  After parking a block away, we approached the diner and were advised there would be a 20 minute wait for seating.  Definitely a good sign.  A peak inside the vintage box car diner revealed some counter seating, and just a few booths and tables....all packed in.   By the time our 20 minutes expired, the wait behind us climbed to 45 minutes and people were waiting.   This place could hardly be described as a hidden gem as all of Rochester seemed to be lined up for breakfast.

As soon as we were seated in our booth in became apparent why.  Besides having an extensive menu of classic diner food, loaded with breakfast combinations,  there was a specials menu not to be believed.  The various marriages of staple like omelets, pancakes, and french toast to seasonal fruits and vegetables was stunning.  Debbie and Jackie settled for the peanut butter stuffed french toast topped with raspberries and whipped cream, and I for the pumpkin bread french toast with pumpkin butter.  The girls seemed to enjoy their choice as their was little left on either of their plates (just enough to take back to the dorm for Jackie's roommate Kate).  My own choice......such a dish is just not fair to the palette.  The warm pumpkin butter on the dense pumpkin bread still gives me the shivers. 

If you ever happen to drive seven hours out of the way for breakfast, guess what, it will be worth it.  The Highland Park Diner is a must.

The Danbury Mint Issued A Highland Park Diner Collectible.

The True Meaning Of GPS.

What in the world does GPS stand for?  Incredibly, asking 10 different people will elicit 5 different answers the most common being Global Positioning System.  Right you say, wrong I say.  I too once thought that was the answer, but thanks to my in-laws I have come to learn that GPS really stands for something entirely different.  As successful as my in-laws have been in reaching new destinations thanks to their GPS, most notably Rochester to see Jackie, they have be unable to avoid some of the pitfalls of simply not being able to work the damn thing.

Where do I start?  If you are my in-laws, it is not at home.  Since their GPS has a fondness of taking them along the BQE whenever they seek to leave or return to the City,  they resorted to lying to the GPS about where they live so they can take their preferred route through the Belt Parkway or Ocean Parkway.  So home for them is somewhere on Ocean Avenue instead of where they really live on Flatbush Avenue.  So when "the bitch", as they commonly refer the voice on their GPS to, gets them "home", they first then have to go home.

One of their early GPS mishaps involved completing 3 round trips through the Lincoln Tunnel in an attempt to get home from New Jersey, caused by not being able to navigate the lane shift that takes you from the tunnel exit onto the West Side Highway as "the bitch" added to the lane confusion shouting "rerouting! rerouting!".  Another resulted in their ending up at Philadelphia Park while trying to get to the casino at Mount Airy Lodge in the Poconos.  That time "the bitch" couldn't distinguish between the two Pennsylvania Casinos taking them as far north as the George Washington Bridge and then all the way down to the entrance way of the racetrack.  The most recent episode involved them putting 13 miles on the odometer of their Sonata trying to get out of a BJ's parking lot in Rochester.

Still there is always one that rises above the rests.  My in-laws could not wait to take Jackie up to the Empire Casino in Yonkers once she turned 18.  So one night in June they decided to take the ride.  With the five of them in the car, Grandpa Al, Grandma Marcia, Jackie, Debbie and "the bitch" they set out for the night.  They left home, to their "home" on Ocean Avenue, and programed in the address of the Empire Casino in Yonkers.  With directions from "the bitch" they were there in no time. Optimal GPS usage.  After trying their luck for a few hours, successfully on this occasion as I recall, it was time to go home.  Now mind you, my father in law has been coming and going from Yonkers Raceway for most of his adult life.  But he is now addicted to "the bitch".  So he asked my mother in law to program the GPS for home; again not their real home, but their GPS home; and off they were.  After driving one exit south on the Deegan, they got off the highway, made a left and another left, as directed and found themselves back at Yonkers.  Convinced they had made a mistake, or failed to comply with the directions of "the bitch" they got on the Deegan again and headed home (GPS home).  After one exit they got off again, made a left and another left and were back at Yonkers again.  On the third round trip Jackie pointed out this looping problem, and discovered that Grandma Marcia had not successfully programmed home (GPS home that is) and "the bitch" was simply redirecting them to the locale that had been programmed in at the beginning of the evening. 

So in my house, or really in my mind GPS no longer stands for Global Positioning System.  No, GPS now means something entirely new to me, as it now has served a more important function than navigation.  It has  provided me with some funny but true stories that I can't help retelling.  GPS in my dictionary...Grand Parent Stories!