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RIP Nichols Lunch
Sep. 27th, 2006 03:15 pmI just found out through vicarious internet channels that Nichols Lunch has closed down after 85 years of service.
There are select few places left in the world where you can mingle with off-duty drag queens and powder-starved speed freaks while dining on a plate full of pig brains scrambled with eggs... Nichols Lunch was such a place, a sleaze-pit diner from the bowels of some hepcat's long-forgotten wet dream. Picture it: The waitress snaps hard chiclets through a mouth full of rotten teeth, belching nicotine gas all over your pancakes as she bends to refill your coffee. All around you are the leering stares of the late night ghoul-set, their sunken faces cast in the ethereal piss-glow of the crackling seizure-lights overhead. Most of them are just waiting for a chance to follow you in the bathroom and stab you for your wallet... Or, if you're lucky, forcibly administer a hand job to you in the toilet stall. And the food? Pure culinary magic, especially in the haze of a 3 a.m. whiskey bender-- wax squares of orange cheese congealing in a bowl of hot grits, burnt toast wedges framing puddles of fried eggs, and onions rings so fresh from the fry pit that bubbles of grease are still popping on the skin. If you still have room in your belly after stuffing this down, you might try a slice of pie from the revolving rack by the door-- I believe that same tin of lemon meringue has been spinning there for the past quarter century, just waiting for you to drop by.
Everyone, please, bow your heads with me and silently acknowledge the passing of Nichols Lunch. The emptiness its passing leaves in me is more than just a hunger for grilled cheese and french fries. There are very few places left in the world that give me that Special Feeling, and more of them seem to vanish every day... I never thought Nichols would be one of them, but I guess that's just the nature of change. See you in the next life, friend.
There are select few places left in the world where you can mingle with off-duty drag queens and powder-starved speed freaks while dining on a plate full of pig brains scrambled with eggs... Nichols Lunch was such a place, a sleaze-pit diner from the bowels of some hepcat's long-forgotten wet dream. Picture it: The waitress snaps hard chiclets through a mouth full of rotten teeth, belching nicotine gas all over your pancakes as she bends to refill your coffee. All around you are the leering stares of the late night ghoul-set, their sunken faces cast in the ethereal piss-glow of the crackling seizure-lights overhead. Most of them are just waiting for a chance to follow you in the bathroom and stab you for your wallet... Or, if you're lucky, forcibly administer a hand job to you in the toilet stall. And the food? Pure culinary magic, especially in the haze of a 3 a.m. whiskey bender-- wax squares of orange cheese congealing in a bowl of hot grits, burnt toast wedges framing puddles of fried eggs, and onions rings so fresh from the fry pit that bubbles of grease are still popping on the skin. If you still have room in your belly after stuffing this down, you might try a slice of pie from the revolving rack by the door-- I believe that same tin of lemon meringue has been spinning there for the past quarter century, just waiting for you to drop by.
Everyone, please, bow your heads with me and silently acknowledge the passing of Nichols Lunch. The emptiness its passing leaves in me is more than just a hunger for grilled cheese and french fries. There are very few places left in the world that give me that Special Feeling, and more of them seem to vanish every day... I never thought Nichols would be one of them, but I guess that's just the nature of change. See you in the next life, friend.