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Afternoon at the Night & Day
Happy Hour, meet Taco Tuesday
A sailor's dream of homey goodness.
First time I came in here, the Night and Day was a true 24-hour greasy spoon. Front door stayed open for half a century, day and night. It’s where you came after you realized you’d had maybe one over the ton. When what you most wanted was a strong coffee and something grungy to soak up all those liquids sloshing around in your gut. Something to settle y’all’s spinning head down.
You’d hoist yourself aboard one of the dozen stools and kinda slump over the counter, thinking, contemplating your life. What’s it all about, Alfie? “Coffee?” The guy would say. You’d nod. Maybe grunt. You’d wish those other guys at the counter would maybe tone it down with their animal laughs. Each cackle hurt your head something horrible. This is when a menudo would sooo hit the jackpot. Or, okay, one of their pretty danged good boigers, just to soak up the alcohol.
So these were my earliest memories of Night and Day. Then a bunch of nights and days passed without our crossing paths much. Then a few years back, I started having trouble getting to sleep. Clock crawled to 2, 3, 4. The night steadily refused to be done and over. One night, I decided I'd had enough, and headed out to the Night and Day. I was looking for a lot of coffee and a little company, to see if anybody else couldn’t make it to the Land of Nod.
Turns out, a lot. I got down there and presto! Place wasn't full, but a nice scattering of folks at the counter. Looked warm. A kind of collegiality of the damned. The insomniacs. Guys, mostly. Older, mostly. And, turned out, more than average number of retired admirals and chiefs among them. But this wasn't the time they were heading for bed. This was the time they got up! People eating eggs, toast, even burgers and plates of fries. Mostly though, slurping coffee and sharing wry jokes and old news. “Remember when we pulled in to Saigon, and people came and said there was a strike on? We all looked for a place to duck, except it turned out it was workers refusing to handle cargo. That kind of strike.” The laugh rippled down the counter, backed by the hiss of hash browns being tossed on a hot plate.
Now 98, the cafe is no longer 24-hour. Just open until around 10 mostly, and really late on Friday and Saturday. So this time, I'm here on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. Hopportunity — like opportunity for cheap hops — is knocking. I’ve worked this out scientifically. Got to hit the all-day Taco Tuesday ($2 battered fish tacos!) but also make sure I get here during the daily 3-5pm Happy Hour, so I can lay my hands on one of their magnums of Modelo beer at half price (from $13.50 down to $6.75).
“Order your drink first,” says Alejandro. “Two minutes of Happy Hour to go!” I do, and he brings out this tankard of golden cerveza. (Cerveza, cheve, chela, call it what you will. Chela is a Mayan word meaning “blue,” to describe the light-skinned, often blue-eyed Spanish conquistadores — who enjoyed beer as much as the Mayans.) The sun’s spindling across the bubbles as they rise through 26 ounces of frosty amber liquid. See, I’m not at the counter, nor at the desperately needed space they’re hoping to expand into next door (city’s playing hard to get). I'm outside by the sidewalk as the sun sets. Simple tables, chairs, umbrellas. Beautiful. I'm not so much seeing Orange Avenue as the lush backlit grass of the center median.
The golden afternoon sun, shining through 26 ounces of golden Modelo.
Alejandro returns, menu in hand. I just say “Let’s have the battered fish taco. Isn’t that the one that’s the Taco Tuesday special?”
“You’ve got it boss,” says Alejandro. “Only two bucks each. Normally $7. One or two?” Natch I go for the two. With my giant $6.75 beer, that’s $10.75 I’ve paid out. Not bad for Coronado. The fish arrives covered in golden, crispy batter, resting on top of a corn tortilla. Alejandro says it’s grilled mahi mahi marinated in a chimichurri sauce (basically, olive oil, parsley, vinegar, garlic) with a bed of shredded cabbage, along with avocado, plus chunks of mango in a pico de gallo salsa to give it a fresh, sweet, summery flavor. And yeah, two buckeroos. (What does “pico de gallo” actually mean? Of course, rooster’s beak. But why? Jury’s still out, but I’m pretty sure it’s because the salsa is usually a little peppery. When you put it on your tongue, it gives you a little nip, like a rooster pecking on you.) The corn tortilla adds flavor, cabbage adds a salady touch, and the Cholula I splot over it adds a bit more pico to the gallo.
Blue plate special.
The sun is setting, and my giant beer is taking its time disappearing down my gullet, partly because these mango-powered mahi tacos are so, well, substantial. I can’t help thinking about how sailors on WestPac deployments say they always dream at sea about getting home and coming straight to this place. It seems to symbolize everything about these here United States that they love. And after they retire, it’s the place they come back to, to laugh over salty tales of long ago and far away.
I pay up. The $10.75 tag comes to $15.95 after tax and tip. Without Taco Tuesday and Happy Hour, this would’ve been double that. Guess I’ll have to come back same time next week. Maybe just order a pint of chela next time, instead of this 26-ounce “royal cup.”
The Place: Night and Day Cafe, 847 Orange Avenue, Coronado, tel. 619-435-9776
Hours: Monday, 6.30am - 8pm; Tuesday thru Thursday, 6.30am - 10pm; Friday 6.30am - 1am; Saturday, 7am - 2am; Sunday, 7am - 10pm
Prices: Breakfast cheeseburger with bacon, egg, avo, $20; half-pound burger, $17; shrimp taco, $8; adobada (pork) taco, $4; pollo asado taco, $4; beef chimichanga burrito with rice and beans, $21; pollo asado quesadilla, $16; battered fish taco, $7. Taco Tuesday special: battered fish taco, $2 all day; Happy Hour (1/2 off munchies, beers, seltzers, mimosas): 3-5pm daily.
Buses: 901, 904
Nearest Bus Stop: 9th and Orange
Here's something you might be interested in.
Afternoon at the Night & Day
Happy Hour, meet Taco Tuesday
Afternoon at the Night & Day
Happy Hour, meet Taco Tuesday
A sailor's dream of homey goodness.
First time I came in here, the Night and Day was a true 24-hour greasy spoon. Front door stayed open for half a century, day and night. It’s where you came after you realized you’d had maybe one over the ton. When what you most wanted was a strong coffee and something grungy to soak up all those liquids sloshing around in your gut. Something to settle y’all’s spinning head down.
You’d hoist yourself aboard one of the dozen stools and kinda slump over the counter, thinking, contemplating your life. What’s it all about, Alfie? “Coffee?” The guy would say. You’d nod. Maybe grunt. You’d wish those other guys at the counter would maybe tone it down with their animal laughs. Each cackle hurt your head something horrible. This is when a menudo would sooo hit the jackpot. Or, okay, one of their pretty danged good boigers, just to soak up the alcohol.
So these were my earliest memories of Night and Day. Then a bunch of nights and days passed without our crossing paths much. Then a few years back, I started having trouble getting to sleep. Clock crawled to 2, 3, 4. The night steadily refused to be done and over. One night, I decided I'd had enough, and headed out to the Night and Day. I was looking for a lot of coffee and a little company, to see if anybody else couldn’t make it to the Land of Nod.
Turns out, a lot. I got down there and presto! Place wasn't full, but a nice scattering of folks at the counter. Looked warm. A kind of collegiality of the damned. The insomniacs. Guys, mostly. Older, mostly. And, turned out, more than average number of retired admirals and chiefs among them. But this wasn't the time they were heading for bed. This was the time they got up! People eating eggs, toast, even burgers and plates of fries. Mostly though, slurping coffee and sharing wry jokes and old news. “Remember when we pulled in to Saigon, and people came and said there was a strike on? We all looked for a place to duck, except it turned out it was workers refusing to handle cargo. That kind of strike.” The laugh rippled down the counter, backed by the hiss of hash browns being tossed on a hot plate.
Now 98, the cafe is no longer 24-hour. Just open until around 10 mostly, and really late on Friday and Saturday. So this time, I'm here on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. Hopportunity — like opportunity for cheap hops — is knocking. I’ve worked this out scientifically. Got to hit the all-day Taco Tuesday ($2 battered fish tacos!) but also make sure I get here during the daily 3-5pm Happy Hour, so I can lay my hands on one of their magnums of Modelo beer at half price (from $13.50 down to $6.75).
“Order your drink first,” says Alejandro. “Two minutes of Happy Hour to go!” I do, and he brings out this tankard of golden cerveza. (Cerveza, cheve, chela, call it what you will. Chela is a Mayan word meaning “blue,” to describe the light-skinned, often blue-eyed Spanish conquistadores — who enjoyed beer as much as the Mayans.) The sun’s spindling across the bubbles as they rise through 26 ounces of frosty amber liquid. See, I’m not at the counter, nor at the desperately needed space they’re hoping to expand into next door (city’s playing hard to get). I'm outside by the sidewalk as the sun sets. Simple tables, chairs, umbrellas. Beautiful. I'm not so much seeing Orange Avenue as the lush backlit grass of the center median.
The golden afternoon sun, shining through 26 ounces of golden Modelo.
Alejandro returns, menu in hand. I just say “Let’s have the battered fish taco. Isn’t that the one that’s the Taco Tuesday special?”
“You’ve got it boss,” says Alejandro. “Only two bucks each. Normally $7. One or two?” Natch I go for the two. With my giant $6.75 beer, that’s $10.75 I’ve paid out. Not bad for Coronado. The fish arrives covered in golden, crispy batter, resting on top of a corn tortilla. Alejandro says it’s grilled mahi mahi marinated in a chimichurri sauce (basically, olive oil, parsley, vinegar, garlic) with a bed of shredded cabbage, along with avocado, plus chunks of mango in a pico de gallo salsa to give it a fresh, sweet, summery flavor. And yeah, two buckeroos. (What does “pico de gallo” actually mean? Of course, rooster’s beak. But why? Jury’s still out, but I’m pretty sure it’s because the salsa is usually a little peppery. When you put it on your tongue, it gives you a little nip, like a rooster pecking on you.) The corn tortilla adds flavor, cabbage adds a salady touch, and the Cholula I splot over it adds a bit more pico to the gallo.
Blue plate special.
The sun is setting, and my giant beer is taking its time disappearing down my gullet, partly because these mango-powered mahi tacos are so, well, substantial. I can’t help thinking about how sailors on WestPac deployments say they always dream at sea about getting home and coming straight to this place. It seems to symbolize everything about these here United States that they love. And after they retire, it’s the place they come back to, to laugh over salty tales of long ago and far away.
I pay up. The $10.75 tag comes to $15.95 after tax and tip. Without Taco Tuesday and Happy Hour, this would’ve been double that. Guess I’ll have to come back same time next week. Maybe just order a pint of chela next time, instead of this 26-ounce “royal cup.”
The Place: Night and Day Cafe, 847 Orange Avenue, Coronado, tel. 619-435-9776
Hours: Monday, 6.30am - 8pm; Tuesday thru Thursday, 6.30am - 10pm; Friday 6.30am - 1am; Saturday, 7am - 2am; Sunday, 7am - 10pm
Prices: Breakfast cheeseburger with bacon, egg, avo, $20; half-pound burger, $17; shrimp taco, $8; adobada (pork) taco, $4; pollo asado taco, $4; beef chimichanga burrito with rice and beans, $21; pollo asado quesadilla, $16; battered fish taco, $7. Taco Tuesday special: battered fish taco, $2 all day; Happy Hour (1/2 off munchies, beers, seltzers, mimosas): 3-5pm daily.
Buses: 901, 904
Nearest Bus Stop: 9th and Orange