The Harris Dinner turns 100! By Merlin Lessler
This article about the Harris Diner was first published on
December 18, 2004. Nothing has changed since then, and last week the diner
celebrated its’ 100th anniversary by using food prices from the 1950’s. I
stopped in to join the crowd (and it was a crowd) and to congratulate Sam.
The Big Lie -Fast
Food
“A Few weeks ago, I took three of my grandchildren, Jake –5,
Hannah- 3 and Abby – 2, to MacDonald’s in Westchester County for lunch. It was
the day Jake and Hannah’s sister Callie was born; my part in the process was to
watch the kids while my daughter, Wendy, was at the hospital. I sat at the
table trying to entertain the antsy threesome while Abby’s mother, Kelly,
waited in line for our “fast food” order. It was the longest thirty minutes of
my life. I like going to MacDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s and all the rest of
the fast-food restaurants, but I think it’s time that they admit the obvious,
and stop referring to themselves as “fast.” Fast applies to the service at
Harris’s Diner; a small locally owned restaurant, housed in a cramped Quonset-like
hut next to the fire station in Owego, the village where I live. It doesn’t
provide customer parking, special menu items for kids or an indoor playground,
yet it beats the pants off the international fast-food chains.
I’m not a regular at Sam Harris’s diner; I only stop by
every so often for breakfast. Once in a while I wander in at six, it doesn’t
open until seven. The lights are down low, and Sam isn’t around, but there are
customers hanging out at the counter and at tables in the back, drinking
coffee, shooting the breeze and reading the paper. The coffee urns are full.
The “regulars” made it. At 6:45 Sam comes in, trades insults with some of the
rabble and goes into the back room to do some prep work. I sit at the counter
with a choice seat near the grill, a cup of coffee before me, having been
served by one of the gracious regulars. Sam flicks on the lights and fires up
the grill. He starts things in motion by piling on a mountain of home fries and
a dozen strips of bacon. He knows what the regulars want. Hazel, Sam’s faithful
waitress, comes in at seven on the dot, ready to wait tables and bus the dirty
dishes, a tough job for a gal well past retirement age, but one she does with
class and a big smile.
I sit with my coffee and watch the show. I don’t think there
is anything more entertaining than a good grill man, and Sam is one of the
best. He’s cracking eggs with one hand, flipping pancakes with the other and
discussing last night’s Yankee game with a customer across the room. Regulars
stream in, trade insults back and forth, head for the rack of coffee pots
behind the counter and help themselves, some using their own cups, stored on a
shelf above the pots. Hazel glides around exchanging pleasantries and taking
orders, but Sam takes mine, since I’m right in front of him. The average time
between giving your order and getting it is less than ten minutes. In my case,
sitting at the counter, I get my two eggs over light, home fries, ham and toast
in five. This is fast food! Hazel drops of the check when the food is served.
You never have to wait for her to get around to it, like in many restaurants. A
pile of bills and change lie in a heap next to the cash register. Customers
settle up themselves, making changes and leaving the meal ticket as they pass
the register on their way out. The “regulars” even go so far as to open Sam’s
cash register when they can’t make correct change from the pile. I give my
money to Hazel.”
Congratulations Sam! Thanks for keeping the tradition going.
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