RIP O'Rourke's

Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. I didn't really come to this conclusion until I moved to the east coast. One of the places that molded this opinion was O'Rourke's diner in Middletown, CT.

Anyone who has dined there remembers waiting outside in line for almost an hour, sometimes in the snow to take a seat in the tin diner from the 1920s amongst Wesleyan students, old regulars and those who just pulled an all-nighter. The omelet menu on Sundays was five pages, single spaced typing, front and back. You could go there every day for five years and still not have everything on the menu.

Last week, a fire took my favorite breakfast spot and there is doubt that Mr. O'Rourke will continue his business. Although the community is supportive and offering to rebuild the diner for free, Mr. O'Rourke is not making any decisions right away. It would be impossible to replicate the business that has been in his family since 1947.

I'll never forget going to O'Rourke's for their great food, coffee cake and the big kid with the red afro who played the bag pipes there on Saturdays. It's sad to see such an institution go away so suddenly.

Here is a great story written by a loyal customer of the diner about the owner, Brian O'Rourke:

"I work at the school - THE school - and often pull an over-nighter, so over the last five years I'd be in the door at O'Rourke's with the newspaper guy. (That's five AM folks - the time Brian promises the coffee will be hot.) One morning four and a half years ago is current in my mind. On a snowy winter morning Brian was pressing a fresh muffin and a cup of coffee on a street guy. (The guy had wanted money of course.) Suddenly Brian said, "Have you looked at yourself lately? Really? Do you know what you look like, what you're doing to yourself? Go on down to my bathroom. Wash your face and look in the mirror. That's all you've got bud. That's all you've got." The young man - sadly he was young - went to the bathroom. He was gone a while. There was silence in the diner as the two or three patrons were deep in our private thoughts. When he came back to his stool Brian gave him a few minutes to munch, then he came over and in the gentlest voice I think I have ever heard he said, "Look, you want to go somewhere, I'll go with you. One step. You come by here tonight at seven o'clock. I'm closed, but I'll be here. We'll have a cup of coffee and talk. Maybe we'll go down the street and talk to some smart people who've been there. Okay?" And without an answer or a promise Brian went away and left the kid to eat. I don't know whether the young man showed up that night. He probably didn't. But I'll bet Brian did."