March 17, 2021 - The Applejack Diner.

Evening at the Applejack Diner on Broadway; dining inside at a quarter till nine, shrimp parmigiana -–– first the house salad with blue cheese dressing and two rolls, one poppyseed the other plain. Deliliah’s radio show carries the tune of the night, interspersed with soundbites from WWE matches that play on a television that hangs from the ceiling near the kitchen. The breaded shrimp is covered completely by mozzarella cheese and served with tomato sauce over spaghetti noodles. Just water to drink. Almost anything goes at the Applejack. When I walk in the maitre d takes my temperature and asks me to write my name and address and phone number down on their contact-tracing list. I oblige. It’s only the second time in a long time that I’ve dined inside. Everything happens faster and there are far less scenes to observe as compared to outdoor dining. No cars driving by, no cyclists –––– no people watching. I can’t eat everything on my plate. The portions are huge and although I make a real effort at joining the clean plate club, still there’s three or four more bites that I can’t get through. Me: “May I please have a small to-go box?” Waiter: “Of course, how was everything; did you want anything else?” After a long pause. Me: “No, thank you. It was lovely. I’m full.”