Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Yale Street Pharmacy
After the fitting I was feeling a little weak from not eating for the past four days—unless you call two six-packs of Ensure, a whole bag of Halloween candy, a pile of fruit and a chocolate cake the neighbor brought over eating. LOL So on the way home I stopped someplace that I have been wanting to take Janet for a long time, but never did, The Yale Street Pharmacy. It is probably the last remaining place in Houston with a truly 1950’s eating counter. I half expected Flo to come out of the kitchen and say, “Kiss my grits!” at any moment. There used to be one on Westheimer along about Buffalo Speedway, can’t remember the name right now, but I think it is long gone. The only thing that was missing was the jutebook dumafotchie on the table.
It has been so long since I have had eggs over easy that after I finished the first breakfast I ordered a second one. That was foolish because I could not finish the second one and came away stuffed to the gills. But that is okay. I did need the food and feel much better since eating. The Yale Street Pharmacy like the Taft Street Coffee House may end up being among my haunts. By the way, the eggs were cooked perfectly, whites done, yokes runny—and oh so very good after I hid them under a pile of black pepper.
Reverse Senior Moment: Just remembered the name of the place on Westheimer, the Avalon Pharmacy. Janet and I stopped in there a time or two but since we moved to the cheapseats it has been a little out of our roaming area. I think it is gone but I will check the next time I am in the area to see if I am wrong about that. So many of the places that Janet and enjoyed when we first married like Freaky Foods on Richmond are long gone. It was a different world back then. The ice house I think is still there, need to go back for a cold one if it is--just for old times sake. We got on this "walking kick" and that was one of our walking destinations from our apartment on West Main. Don't know what good it did to walk twenty block or so to an ice house for a beer, but as with much of life it was the jouney and not the destination that was important.