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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]
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