A mile or so from Mary's family's home, right on the Post Road, there is an International House of Pancakes. There it has sat for at least the 10 years I've been around, surely longer, with its bright blue roof, beckoning to passers-by with sirens of buttermilk, but never has a member of the Berridge household entered into it.
The little IHOP by the road has always intrigued me and on Sunday, Father's Day, Natalie and I put an end to this neglect. IHOP. Long the only restaurant that absolved its customers of the "eggs or pancakes" decision by just bringing you both. The first breakfast place I ever saw accepting credit cards (that would be ca. 1986, Newton, MA). Provider of silver dollar pancakes to little kids. Home of multiple flavors of syrup. A national, no, an international institution.
Sunday was no different. We got there at 8:30 or so, not too long before a line started forming. First impression upon sitting down in the booth, was that IHOP had engaged some consultants to use the space most efficiently, as the booth was mighty vertical and thrust me perilously close to the table. Sadly, they could not do chocolate chip silver dollars, but Natalie did not get worked up.
Looking around, I might never have guessed I was in fancy-pants Larchmont, NY. No, no, this was America. Hispanic families, black couples, a pair of young Indians and so on. There was an older black couple dressed for church, she in a red jacket and black blouse, he in a killer bright red pinstripe suit and a red bowler. I kid you not. It was beautiful. There was a cute little almost-one-year-old boy a hispanic family with an outrageously full reddish hed of hair, like an Afro, no, like Krusty the Klown. So much hair. And, yeah, there were some Larchmonty people too. IHOP was kickin. Service reflected the volume.
And then this WASP couple comes in, he in a canary Polo golf shirt, she in a shawl or some such. The hostess tried to seat them, but they wouldn't sit there because it was "disgusting," so they took another booth. Then, after not being served for maybe two minutes and muttering to each other excitedly, they got antsy and the guy stood up in the tight aisle and tried to make eye contact with a waitron, to demand service. The Indian guy sitting next to him smirked bemusedly as he forked his omelet, enjoying the difficulties of Mr. White Guy. In truth, it was fun. Hell, Natalie had been patient, why couldn't Mercedes man?
Monday, June 20, 2005
IHOP, Boston Post Road
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In the interest of historical accuracy and nothing else, the IHOP sprouted from its parking lot circa 1968. At least one member of the Berridge household entered it on a number of occasions, if memory serves, in the company of a friend's family a couple of times and possibly with visiting grandparents another. There may even have been full-fledged Berridge family outings of a very limited number, although memory doesn't serve well enough to confirm that.
What could be interesting, on the other hand, is that the IHOP has survived if not thrived long past the lifespan of the average Larchmont eatery. And I am sufficiently unknowledgeable enough about it to claim that a main reason must be the chocolate chip pancakes (dollars? What are those, like little pancakes?). Memory certainly serves a heaping plate of chocolate chip pancakes! The insertion of chocolate into a breakfast food must be a guarantee of marketing success. I think they even still sell Count Chocula, which actually wasn't very tasty despite the chocolate but surpassed other cereals on the mere principle of chocolate inclusion.
But of course when it comes to chocolate for breakfast, we must bow humbly to the French (seriously). Allison returned from a teenage trip to France regaling us with breakfast menus consisting of hot chocolate, chocolate croissants, and Nutella (a chocolate spread resembling peanut butter, for those no longer blissfully ignorant of it). And yet they don't have heart attacks! Time for a glass of red wine...
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