This is less of a review than an homage to the late and great Clark's, closed recently due to budget constraints. My father and I went here after a job interview of mine to sit and talk and eat some pancakes.
Clark's didn't have pan-Asian African fusion or a funky mix of microbrews. It wasn't famous for any one chef and its state of the art kitchen was right in front of a few lucky diners. It was, in all its glory, another damned good place to eat.
I used to go to Clark's with my dad on rainy afternoons in New Haven, after a day at the British Art Gallery or another museum, and in retrospect I remember the setting in a foggy fashion, framed by Yale and forever looping its glory days in the mist. It was a restaurant built on chrome stools and a decades long reputation.Today, we ordered pancakes.
Dad and I sat and watched them cook a few meals. The manager came over and chatted with the chef about what it'll be like when it all closes down, and the waitress softened at the edges with a touch of sunlight, but still called everyone she saw "hun" and "sugar."Clark's, you will be missed. Our stomachs prowl the streets in vain for another classic haunt.
Labels: breakfast, lunch, restaurant