There’s nothing better in this world than having a large Greek lady with a head of hair that looks as if a giant condor nested in Flo’s beehive scream your order of three scrambled, two sausage links, bagel with cream cheese and a large chocolate milk to the cook for the whole neighborhood to hear. It certainly adds to the hungover state in which most of the twenty-somethings in this diner seem to be wallowing (after all, it is only one block from the Normandy Court apartments.) We can’t say you’re going to have a unique dining experience at Seasons, but you’ll certainly catch up on the latest love trysts and general gossip between roommates and coworkers as you practically sit on top of the baseball-hatted folks in the booth across the short divider from you. This is a great place to come on those rough Sunday mornings where nothing tastes better than an entire meal that tastes vaguely of homefries, and doubles or triples the daily allowance for salt. [MF]
1814 2nd Ave.