The Double R Diner
Journeying by car across to Seattle, I stopped off in the small town of Twin Peaks, surrounded by forests of beautiful Douglas Firs, close to the border with Canada. Hankering for a much needed caffeine hit, I was lucky to come across two members of the local law enforcement (one Native American, the other, it seemed, rather slow), who kindly directed me to The Double R Diner.
The Diner was a pure slice of Americana: central breakfast bar, boothed seating, jukebox. One of the waitresses, an attractive young girl, perhaps still of high school age, was having an argument with her ponytailed Neanderthal-of-a-boyfriend, maybe even husband, apparently over the state of his laundry. An older, no less beautiful waitress introduced herself as Norma and she was, as she informed me, also the owner of the establishment. Seeking extra stimulation, I ordered a chocolate brownie with my coffee.
While Norma saw to my order, a sharply-dressed man, sat at the breakfast bar, enthused to her that his pastry portion was ‘damn fine’. Intrigued, when Norma brought me over my coffee and brownie, I stated that I would also have what he was having, and she brought me over a slice of cherry pie. The pie was as exquisite as the gentleman had suggested: the pastry light, yet substantial, while the cherry filling looked so vividly red, and tasted so vividly red, that I swear that very night I dreamt I was in a room surrounded by curtains of that exact colour.
Norma
While I ate, I observed that Norma was keenly interested in the couple sitting in the booth next to mine. I can only assume she was fascinated by the invention that the woman, an eyepatched redhead, was excitedly describing to her big, ruggedly handsome husband. Personally, I could not see that the product, some kind of noiseless cord runner for curtains, would have sufficient potential to persuade a Theo Paphitis to splurge money from his kids’ inheritance fund.
Having finished my slice of pie and cup of coffee, I concurred to Norma that the cherry pie was indeed damn fine (seriously, if you ever find yourself in this part of Washington, the cherry pie alone warrants a visit to Twin Peaks). With my brownie now untouched, I enquired as to whether I could have some cling film so I could take it with me. Seeing that she was bemused by my term-of-use, failing to remember the correct Americanism I just stated that I would like the brownie ‘wrapped in plastic’. I am not entirely sure what I said wrong, but Norma’s response was to turn as white as a sheet. Not wishing to press any further, I said a napkin would suffice.
As I left, I had to double-take as I saw a lady entering, carrying with her a lump of firewood. I could not recall seeing a fireplace inside the Diner. Was she expecting this log was so precious that it would be stolen from her car? I couldn’t help but think that perhaps this town was a little more peculiar than I had first thought.
