Tin Fork
“I wanted to make a place where you got good food and could fill yourself up for five bucks.”
“They’re growing up soft, less healthy, because they eat burgers and tacos and fries.”
“What a day. Nothing’s falling right. Gimme a beer, sweetheart. And meatballs. Your famous meatballs.”
I make a pig of myself, crunching the tostada, gunging into the fish taco, and slurping coconut.
“We’re from Chicago. We ordered a sausage-and-mushroom pizza to see if they measured up.”
“Take the chop suey,” says the waitress. “Filling. It has vegetables as well as meat.”
“They say people are harder back there, but once you’re their friends, you are friends for life.”
“There’s something about it. The old feel, not dressed up, real. Neighborly. Could be back in Queens.”
“I was a waiter, Peter was a sales rep. This was a big leap. But it took off, from day one.”