Whispered rumors in the neon streets
about Big Ed’s delicious treats.
Strippers twist across the street; bikers drink at the bar next door.
You’ll find Big Ed’s on a street called Four.
Stepping in on the hardwood floor, right next to an antique safe,
I’m not too sure about this night but leave the taste up to fate.
Waiter tells us to pick any place, so we sit at a booth and check out the scene:
wood floors, wood tables and even some brass. And we both notice, Big Ed’s is clean!
Kitchen is open for diners to see; no walls to hide the dance of the food.
Then, on the ball, menus in hand, three minutes gone by—this guy is good.
This isn’t like any fast food. Menu is pricey; my friend, real worried about wallet catastrophe.
“No, don’t worry,” I tell him with glee. Bono is singing out of the wall. Patrons besides us number at three.
A casual spot for dining in fall, and a thousand times better than at the mall.
Part pub, part diner, part sport, part nook. The food that you eat? As fresh as it looks.
Our waiter, we realize, is really the cook. Another comes forward to help us to order.
Loud and inviting, he brings us our forks. (All day it’s been freezing, and this guy’s in shorts!)
I order the chicken pasta; my roommate a 9-ounce steak.
Our simple menu promises lotsa salad and baked pota-ta.
Big Ed’s Big Beans come alongside.
But pasta, the waiter does tell me, is a tater-free ride.
Tonight, for me, he’ll let it slide, and then the timing is short before our dinner does descend.
Now in this report, I must forewarn: The portions are huge! Dripping with dressing, real anchovy ooze.
Caesar with croutons ready to c
Leisurely starving, we’re quick to make it gone. Big Ed’s baguettes are soft and warm, with creamy whipped butter, perfect for any storm.
Sierra Nevada quickly is poured, for onto our table they place our meal.
The dishes are steaming; the veggies are real.
Big Ed’s Big Beans have chili appeal with barbecue-y goodness—
These dinners are scrumptious,
My roommate gives food his focus.
My chicken is tender, with broccoli and ‘shrooms; pasta and bird, in creamy measures.
Potatoes, so big, real Irish splendor; a foil wrapped treat
I could put both my fists inside. A blank canvas of meat
in front of my dear friend’s seat, unseasoned to perfection.
This steak is bound in digestive direction.
Our bellies grow big in reflection, stuffed inside half an hour,
Neither finished with our feast. Digesting, our limbs have no power.
The service was friendly; I thought I was home.
My friends, I tell you simply: Don’t go alone.
To anyone else I happen to meet:
Go to Big Ed’s, siddown, and