“I wish I could have bacon!” my son exclaimed. We had just finished watching The Illusionists, a Broadway magic show, at the 5th Ave Theater and now we were in search of lunch.
“Hmmm, bacon. Let’s see if we can find a breakfast place close by.” After consulting my phone, we headed off towards Ludi’s, an eight minute walk according to Google maps.
“C’mon, Mom, let’s run!” C begged, grabbing my hand and pulling me forward. “I can’t wait to eat my bacon!” I laughed and played along. Only my energetic, six-year-old son could possibly convince me to alternate between running, skipping, and speed walking through the heart of downtown Seattle. In less than eight minutes we were walking into a small breakfast diner on the corner of 2nd and Pike.
Ludi’s was exactly what I think of when I think about breakfast restaurants. There was a counter with round cushioned stools that spin in place, tables and chairs around the room, customers who look like they come there often, and a fine layer of grease covering everything. It smelled delicious.
“Shall we sit at the counter?” I asked C. He hopped onto a stool and spun around in answer. I sat down next to him and grabbed the menu from behind the ketchup bottle. “What do you want to eat with your bacon? Toast, pancakes, a biscuit?”
“A biscuit,” he replied. “Can I have six pieces of bacon?”
“Let’s see, an order comes with three pieces. Let’s start with that, and if you want more you can have mine,” I said, wondering if giving your young child too much bacon is as bad as giving him too much candy.
We gave our order to our waitress, then started going back through all of the amazing tricks we had just witnessed at the magic show. I’m not sure what I enjoyed more, watching the magicians’ tricks, or watching C’s delight and amazement after each one. I had bought the tickets months ago as a surprise, knowing he would love it, but I was happily surprised at how much I enjoyed the show, too.
“Why don’t you pick out the kind of jelly you want for your biscuit,” I said when I saw our food up in the window. There was a bowl of the individual-serving jelly containers in front of us on the counter.
“What is a biscuit?” C asked as he sorted through the different flavors, selecting strawberry.
“You don’t remember what a biscuit is?” I asked, surprised.
“I haven’t had one in so long I don’t remember.”
Our food arrived and C chowed down on his bacon while I spread butter on his biscuit. “I want to put the jelly on myself!” he said said when I reached for the packet he had selected. He spread the jelly around unevenly, plopped the top back on, and took a bite. “Tastes like bread,” he said matter-of-factly, and went back to his plate of bacon.
Two-and-a-half pieces of bacon, one sausage, and half-a-biscuit later, C declared that he was full. My empty plate of French toast and sausage left me feeling just the same. Even more satisfying, though, was the fullness of my heart and soul after a morning out with my son.