I’ve always thought of myself as someone who hates breakfast. To be honest with you, this is not a trait that most people seem to appreciate. My heartfelt declarations against eggs and waffles are often met with confusion that borders on judgment.
But recently I’ve come to an important realization: I only hate such foods between the hours of 6 a.m. and 10 a.m., hours that are known to most humans as breakfast time. My aversion to all things griddle cooked is in actuality a rebellion against the morning. This isn’t about sunny side up verses scrambled; it’s about my resistance to conform to a world that demands I be awake before noon.
And so I concede—I have been wrong for many a year, French toast and cinnamon roles are not my adversaries, they are actually quite delightful when enjoyed in the proper context. My solution? Breakfast at midnight.
Nothing sops up cheap vodka like a stack of buttermilk goodness, nothing aids a late-night study session like a side of cheese grits, and as I’ve recently discovered, nothing improves the most average of Wednesday nights quite like a trip with some friends to an all-night diner in Oak Cliff.
If you ever happen to find yourself in that area of Dallas, I suggest you stop into Metro Diner. If you do, you’ll be greeted by a gray haired lady with a syrup sweet drawl and she’ll tell you to “sit anywhere you like, baby.” You’ll chose a red vinyl booth, and you’ll be surprised by how many people are there at 11:30 p.m. on Wednesday. People from all walks of life will sit dispersed throughout the narrow diner, and you’ll recognize you all share a common bond: hunger.
If you’re anything like us, you’ll try almost everything on the menu—the fluffy pancakes, the crispy hash browns, the greasy bacon, and you’ll wash it all down with a cold glass of whole milk.
Here’s a pro tip: bring change because there are endless things you can do with 50 cents at a diner. You can play a Bob Dylan song on the jukebox, try and grasp a stuffed pink monkey from an old, claw machine, or purchase a miniature rubber ducky from a gumball dispenser.
You’ll leave milk mustached and happy wondering why it took you so long to realize that mornings might suck, but maple syrup sure doesn’t.
Hayley Waring is a level 5 improv student at the Dallas Comedy House training center. If the world was a perfect place she would spend her days writing poetry with Alexander Hamilton while sharing an ahi tuna tower.