A few Saturday’s ago, in accordance with what was an officially planned event (thanks to Grubard and his supposedly ironic facebooking), Stacey and I met Grubard and Julie (did you know they are dating on facebook?) at Tom’s Restaurant (not the Seinfeld one). It’s right next to my apartment (and therefore right next to Grubard’s too). It was a rainy rainy morning, but we stood in line outside anyway (I had heard such good things about this place, we decided it was worth it). The line moved pretty fast for what it was (and even went through half the restaurant inside, but even the wait was enjoyable, the reasons of which your about to find out) As we stood there, every three minutes (on average) an employee would walk up the line with a big tray of food – cookies, french toast sticks, sausages, strawberries and cream, and even mugs of coffee for everyone (cream and sugar if you wanted it). The owner (Gus) made himself known to everyone there, and was really funny and friendly; as if we’d been friends for years. And the people he really was friends with (of which there were quite a few) he treated even better, going as far as giving a little black boy a two minute bear hug and then a handful of money. And the food was good too (really really good).
Since moving to New York, I have embraced the brunch culture; although I unwittingly started this affair with brunch back in Boston, when on Friday mornings, tired, hung-over, and suffering after 11am math class, my roommate Greg and I would hop in my Subaru Legacy and go out for breakfast, each week trying to find and evaluate a new and unknown diner (The Tufts brunch scene was dominated by only two restaurants, where you would have to wait in enormous lines, with the people you didn’t want to talk to at the party at the night before, for the same food every week. These places were good, though). This weekly sojourn caught the attention of my other roommates and friends, and we would go venturing into Medford with increasing numbers, and even my current relationship with Stacey was, in a large part, founded on these mornings. Now, in New York, I have a neighborhood, a village, an island, five boroughs, a city to explore, two days a week. And for the months I’ve been here, and the months earlier spent visiting and crashing on floors, I hadn’t yet tried Tom’s, the fantastically reviewed and homey diner right next door to me. Quickly into our meal there and with great grinning mouths, Julie, Stacey, Grubard, and myself ecstatically claimed this was the best place we’d ever been to. Now with about a week to think and move past our original, excited hyperbole, the place has been properly digested in mind. It is great. But, are there any ways it could be better? Let’ see:
The Food:
It’s good. It’s great, really. But, it’s not fancy. Pretty standard breakfast fair – eggs, pancakes, waffles, french toast, etc. Not fancy is fine, but since I’m used to the east village, I generally see all sorts of fancy, specialized 
concoctions, and figured this was the NYC rule; so Tom’s could be seen as antiquated, un-hip. But, the food was good enough to cancel out any issues one might have had, and any frilly foods would have been completely wrong for this place, a rupturing and uneasy mixture. Furthermore, even though you had to choose from typical moring starches and proteins, Tom’s tweaked every dish, making the food unique and incredible. Dozens of different types of pancakes, even with corn or cranberries, chorizo with lemon instead of normal sausages, even three different types of butter, including cinnamon, strawberry, and mango.
The Food – I wouldn’t change anything.
The Waitstaff:
About four minutes after we ordered our food, Gus walked up behind Alex and Julie with four plates in his arms and amiably said “sorry about the long wait.” That should speak for itself.
But, if it doesn’t, more analysis: The real waiters were business like and swift. They did what they needed to, filled your coffee, and pretty much stayed out of the way. I like when waiters don’t interrupt too much, but if you don’t and want your waiter to be your thirty-minute friend, don’t worry, I think the attention and jokes one gets from Gus and his wife more than fill the empty void inside you that you need waitresses to occupy.
Any other ways the make the waitstaff better? Topless waitress: believe it or not, this idea has been tried and it failed. A donut store off the highway in Maine tried to mix sex and breakfast, but quickly went under. Health violations aside, making Tom’s anything but a family joint would ruin the aesthetic and consequently the enjoyment. For the same reasons I don’t really like eating at Hooters, lewdness and heart-warming food cannot connect pleasantly for me.
The Coffee:
Honestly, the coffee wasn’t great. It was watery and not very strong. But, it was cheap – less than a dollar – and I had a cup in my hand since I got into line, and the refills were free and prompt.
The Decor:
Like the food, the decor is an amalgamation of past virtues. A frantic amalgamation at that. The place is packed with old pictures and reviews, strung up with colored christmas lights, and perfumed by randomly set potted plants. 
Individual highlights from the menu are written on colored posters that polka-dot the walls. It’s a mess. It works. Unlike those family chain restaurants that cover their walls in old metal prints and antique furniture and sports equipment (I’ve always theorized that there is a catalog for those restaurants full of that random crap), the decorations seem genuine and sweet; a relic, like Gus himself.
Would I change the decor at all? More christmas lights? Naw, it’s good.
Can Tom’s be any better? Maybe lower the price by a dollar. That might be it.
