THE BREAKFAST BAR

Steaks-Short Orders-Cocktails

Breakfast Served TwentyFour Hours

Georges said, “Mrs. Tormey my love, it occurs to me that we neglected to eat dinner.”

“Mr. Tormey, you are so right. Let’s shoot a bear.”

“Cooking in the Confederacy is not exotic, not sophisticated. But in its own robust way it can be quite satisfying-especially if one has had time to grow a real appetite. I have eaten at this establishment before. Despite its name, one may have a variety of dishes. But, if you will accept the breakfast menu and allow me to order for you, I think that I can guarantee that your hunger will be pleasantly assuaged.”

“Georges-I mean ‘Ian’-I have eaten your soup. You can order for me anytime!”

It was truly a bar-no tables. But the stools had backs and were padded and they came up to the bar without banging knees-comfortable. Apple-juice appetizers were placed in front of us as we sat down. Georges ordered for us, then slid out and went over to the reception desk and punched us in. When he returned, he said as he sat down again, “Now you may call me ‘Georges,’ and you are ‘Mrs. Perreault.’ For that is how I punched us in.” He picked up his appetizer. “Sante, ma chčre femme.”

I picked up mine. “Merci. Et a la tienne, mon cher man.” The juice was sparkling cold, and as sweet as the sentiment. While I did not intend to have a husband again, Georges would make a good one, whether in jest, as now, or in reality. But he was simply lent to me by Janet.

Our “breakfast” arrived:

Ice-cold Yakima apple juice

Imperial Valley strawberries with Sequim cream

Two eggs, eyes-up and gently basted, resting on medium-rare steak so tender it would cut with a fork-“Eggs on Horseback”

Large hot biscuits, Sequim butter, sage and clover honey

Kona coffee in oversize cups

Coffee, juice, and biscuits were renewed constantly-a second serving of steak and eggs was offered but we had to refuse.

The noise level and the way we were seated did not encourage conversation. There was an Opportunity Ads screen back of the bar. Each ad remained on screen just long enough to be read but, as usual, each was keyed by number to be called back for leisurely viewing at individual terminals at each guest’s place at the bar. I found myself reading them idly while I ate:

The Free Ship Jack Pot is recruiting crew members

at Vegas Labor Mart. Bonus to combat veterans.

Would a pirate ship advertise that baldly? Even in Vegas Free State? Hard to believe but still harder to read it any other way.

Smoke the Toke that Jesus Smoked!