Growing up in Texas, I came to judge a diner by how well their chef de cuisine served up my favorite southern breakfast staple: biscuits and gravy. * And even though my U.S. base of operations is “back east” now, it is still the first thing I order when trying out a new diner.
Not to swerve too far out of my lane, I feel like sausage gravy must be fairly easy to whip up back there in the kitchen because I’ve found it to be consistently good from coast to coast (before moving back east I was “out west” in California). The biscuits, however, are another matter. I have more than once walked away from a perfectly good serving of sausage gravy because I couldn’t stomach the chunk of plaster being passed off as a biscuit. Sometimes they even try to disguise dinner rolls as biscuits which I belive is a felony in the south. I guess they thought an extra ladle of gravy would smother all sins. It doesn’t.
And so it was with a healthy skepticism and an empty belly I made my first foray into the recently discovered Temple Diner this morning. Now, if you, like me, are a fan boy/girl of Guy Fieri’s series, Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, you can imagine Temple as a combination of the first and last options, a dive diner. It is in a sketchy part of town with a small dining room, formica tables, and a worn counter. But don’t judge a cook by her cover because it also has beautiful rustic murals on the walls and a warm, friendly staff that was just what I needed on what may turn out to be the first snow day of the season.
I sat myself at the counter (proper diner protocol for a party of one), and prepared to order my usual: biscuits and gravy with two scrambled eggs and a side of something. But as I scanned the list of available sides hoping against hope for grits (a southern boy can dream), I saw something I have heretofore never seen offered as a breakfast side on an American menu, baked beans! Now I’m feeling a bit dizzy having been rudely dragged out of full-on Americana mode, without so much as a by-your-leave, by my alter (British) ego upon spying that perennial staple of a full English breakfast. I may have even startled the waitress a bit because I think I used my outside voice to annouce that, yes, a side of baked beans would be “brilliant!”
If I’m honest, I think Temple should make that dish a standing special and call it the Hannah Montana because it was the best of both worlds. I felt like I had died and gone to a Waffle House in Manchester. My inner anglophile joined hands with my outer redneck and all was right with the world for one glorious meal. Now, if I can just find a “Full English” with a side of grits in Leeds, my work will be done here.
- Note for my UK readers, “biscuit” in this context is referring to what I suppose is best described as the American equivalent of a scone, not short bread or some other sweet pastry which I imagine would not pair well with sausage gravy.