The Nighthawk Cafe - My Grandma's Diner

The last two years my grandmother would always say to me, "Now, you better put your name on whatever you want before I go." And I always responded with, "Oh, grandma," not wanting to think of this world without her. Well, this last October at the tender age of 96 she passed away. She was a pistol, that woman, and sharp as a tack until the day she died. And she could crochet like the wind! As a child I would just watch her fingers whip the needle and yarn around in a whirl, somehow producing a beautifully knotted pattern. Four years ago, when I moved to the Bay Area, she succeeded in teaching her craft to me. I was amazed at her patience and am ever grateful for learning her favorite hobby from her.

Her other craft was cooking: personally and professionally. She owned a restaurant, The Nighthawk Cafe, for many years in San Mateo then later in San Francisco. When the family was packing up her house I could not find any particular item that I felt was truly "grandma." So I went to the kitchen, where she could always be found whipping up scrapple, frying eggs and bacon or some other tasty vittle. And there, far back in a low corner cabinet, I found four plates from the Nighthawk Cafe. I cherish them. (I also found from the diner an old business card, an order pad, a box of match books and an ash tray). On weekends I'll cook up a typical diner breakfast and serve it on those plates.

In my book, that's the best inheritance.

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