And is there more American a restaurant than the diner? More democratic than the supposition that a ladle of chili between a pancake-fold of egg covered by fried potatoes, served on linoleum countertops with water in red Coca-Cola cups, is, indeed, the highest culinary art?
Robert Frost’s Poetry Is Like an Omelet Stuffed With Chili
There are many reasons why I miss Williams, and many of them are restaurants, and one of them is definitely the Blue Benn.












