The Adventures Of Jimmy's And The Rubbery Pancakes

I was once told that the best bad food you can get was from the worst greasy spoon diner on the block. That has held true for me for as long as I can recall- until now. Enter chapter two in my book of culinary disasters. I must say that this greasy spoon was exactly that, a greasy spoon, nothing more, nothing less. 

I decided to try out a “down home” place called “Jimmy’s” in Liberty City, Miami. What a huge disappointment. I should have known I was gonna be in for trouble when I sat down and asked the waitress, if you can call her that, if they served turkey sausages. This woman who looked like she was a full grown woman 30 years ago when this place first opened, looked at me like I’d just disrespected the bible. 

You know the type, clearly by the way she lumbered over to the table, she was suffering from either a bad hip replacement or in desperate need of a good one. Her grey Jherri Curl doo was styled in an afro. Her faded out blue jeans (that were too big for her) were her favorite or the ones she wore the most out of habit. To tie the whole look together she topped it off with a sweat shirt with a picture of someone she’d never heard of before like Biggie. A gift from a grandchild trying to make her look cool perhaps?  After she collected herself from my blasphemous question, she proceeded to take my order. All the while glaring at me from eyes that were now slits. 

This place didn’t serve waffles, and she let that be known with all certainty, especially after my absurd turkey question. I have to remember I’m in the south. I was in luck, (or was I?) they did serve pancakes. So I thought to myself why not, let me try their pancakes. I put in my order, a stack of pancakes, and two soft scrambled eggs with cheese. And then I waited. and waited. and waited. 

During the next 20 minutes, I took stock of my surroundings. I realized that I was the youngest man in the place... by at least 15 years.

I started paying attention to the cook who looked like he was also the part time janitor. At times he looked like he was trying to remember what it took to make a plate of eggs. Finally the ‘waitress’ bought my food to me. I must say it did look like what I asked for until I tried to cut into it’s rubber like texture. What a task! I attempted to eat what I managed to pry away from the plate only to have another bout with this rubbery substance that “Jimmy’s” likes to pass off to unsuspecting travelers as pancakes.

I ordered a glass of orange juice to chase my so called pancake. The elderly woman bought me back a glass with ice and a “CAN” of off-brand orange juice-drink. At this point I had no choice but to swallow the spider to catch the fly, so I drank that orange juice-drink thing. 

I figured the eggs have to taste somewhat decent. WRONG!

All I can remember about those eggs was for some reason I only took one bite. Maybe my defense mechanism kicked in to remove the pain of unpleasantness from my consciousness. 

Once again my belly has fallen victim to the unpleasantries of Miami’s “dining.” I paid the bill and left 2 and a half pancakes, 2 soft scrambled objects (claiming to be eggs) and a glass of orange juice-drink on the table. What little bit I did eat stayed with me the entire day and sat on my chest like a lead pendent.  

I left “Jimmy’s” knowing that today victory will not be mine. What ever else they served was of no concern to me or my stomach. So far the count is Miami bad foods 2, Joe Grant’s Turkey Burger and Waffle 0. 

Thanks for reading, if you know a decent spot for Turkey Burgers or Waffles in Miami- (In my best James Brown voice) please, please, please, let me know.

BIG STINK

I’ve recently moved to Miami,Florida from Brooklyn, New York. Wow, what a difference. There is no place like home: Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, U.S.A. I’m starting to wonder if the trade off on warm weather is worth the abandonment good eat’s. One of my biggest problems as a Brooklyn Boy traveling through this land of opportunity is the lack of opportunity for a good old fashion Turkey Burgers with cheese or REAL Belgian waffles for breakfast.

I now spend my days in search of the type of down home New York cuisine I use to get at Mike’s Coffee Shop, in Brooklyn, or better yet Cosi on Broadway in the village... ‘good times, good times.’  Oh sorry, I was having a flash back. Where was I? Oh yes...finding good food. As I said, I am now forced to rome the streets of Miami like a one-eyed dog, haunting diner after diner in search of a good Turkey Burger and a real Belgian waffle.

Yeah, I know I can make it myself, but that’s not the point!

A man has the right to go to any state in this country and get a good meal, damn it! Honestly, after what I’ve been dealing with over the past few months, I would be just be happy with an acceptable meal at this point.

You mean to tell me nobody in the state of Florida knows how to make a decent freakin’ Belgian waffle? I decided to call out an APB (all point bulletin) for my waffles and after an extensive web search, I thought I came across something that might make this Brooklyn Boy smile.

WRONG! 
I had the misfortune of being led to the Big Pink, (a 24 hour hot spot that’s supposed to be the best diner on South Beach). What a waste of time and money. They had the nerve to charge me 8 American dollars for that bull#%^&%! As my friend, comedian Rob Stapleton would exclaim, “8 DOLLARS!”

Peep how it went down:

I sat there tolerating the half-assed service, patiently waiting for what I hoped would be the answer to my prayers. My mouth dripping with anticipation, taste buds standing at attention, my belly eager to experience the taste of home sweet home. Then, I saw it. As it traveled over to my table with its sad rounded edges, I knew, I was in trouble.

The young man, who clearly saw himself more of a model waiting table "for laughs,” than an actual employee, plopped the ( sigh) plate in front of me.

Instantly, I admired the cook’s skillful attempt to give the synthetic eggs that soft scrambled look, while the stiff dried out turkey bacon laid across them as if rigamortis had set in.

With great difficulty, I cut into the alleged waffle and lifted the heavy section to my mouth. All the while, I’m thinkin’, ‘Waffles shouldn’t be this greasy or this thick.’ I gave it another try - this time I drowned it with syrup, which only made it heavier and sweeter. In a last ditch effort, I reasoned, ‘if I mix these eggs and this cardboard-like Turkey bacon with it, it may not be so bad.’

Although I was grateful that the waiter was “generous” enough to remember he was at his day gig and not on a photo shoot decided to come check on me, not even the warm apple juice he bought me 10 minutes later was able to helped.

Finally, I had to lay down my weapons and admited defeat. I slumped away from the Big Pink feeling like a big sucker, leaving a half eaten $8 waffle, $4 eggs and bacon plus tax (and 15% included tip) on the table. I just paid $15 for warm apple juice and a stomach ache.

I can safely say that Big Pink is NOT the place to go if you want a real Belgian waffle. I don’t even want to know about their Turkey Burgers...

Never again will I exchange my hard earned bread for the Big Pink’s bull#%^&% level of service.

If I wanted a 2- inch thick dried out pancake masquerading as a waffle, I would have gone to IHOP.