Not Sure Which One Is Decaf
Bryan: Another of my old haunts, this Ukranian diner/bar is open 24hrs and has a full liquor license. I suggest the diner section with its cheery florescent lighting, turquoise booths, and 106.7 blasting light rock classics. Anyone who prefers the dark, loud bar section is a poseur and a cokehead. Bridgid, Michelle and I had already eaten dinner, but we were joined by the dashing John Flynn, who had just come from the Beast and was hungry.
One does not go to Odessa for a quality meal. One goes for the breadth of options, the dirt-cheap prices, and the ability to order disco fries and whisky, call it breakfast, and not be judged.
And the wait-staff. I imagine Odessa must be involved with a halfway house or a 12 step program because these guys are a little off. Our waiter was a sweet, sad British man who when he brought coffee and confessed he forgot which one was regular and which was decaf, we said we’d sort it out and not to worry. One cross word from us and I just knew he’d be back sucking wharfies off for some sweet sweet mud.
John got a cheeseburger and fries, which looked perfectly edible. Michelle trudged through a doughy apple pie a la mode. My lemon coconut cake was better than it had to be, though too light on the coconut. Bridgid, discerning as ever, stuck with water.
Bridgid: All I can even type about is the wait staff. The waiter possesed a gorgeous accent, an age of mid forties, the style of someone who has a box of U2 ticket stubs in his bedroom, and an almost palpable goodness to him. He served us like we were in a corner booth at Pastis, dining with Fred Durst. As we walked out, Bryan himself remarked: “Ok, I need to know that man’s story.”
119 Ave A (7th & 8th St)