Midtown Diner

Three slices of Texas toast, griddled in butter, dusted with cinnamon sugar. Arrived in under six minutes. Cost nine dollars with coffee included.

The toast was hot and adequately cooked. The cinnamon sugar provided flavor that the bread itself lacked. The syrup came in those small plastic cups that suggest the kitchen has given up on pretense entirely. This was honest.

The diner seats what appears to be half of midtown during lunch rush. The french toast reflects this reality: optimized for volume, consistency, and speed. It succeeds at all three.

No one comes here for artisanal anything. They come because they're hungry and in midtown and have twelve minutes. The french toast respects these constraints.

Would return when circumstances require it.