O'Rourkes

O'Rourkes: A Wesleyan Staple. The classic diner that my dad told me about from his Wes days in the 70s. Steamed cheeseburgers and Brian O'Rourke's gruff demeanor. When it burned down last year, a piece of Middletown literally went down with it. We've been substitution O'Rourkes vibe with Athenian, a classic greasy spoon Greek diner down the road. It's good, we love Athenian, and it's open 24/7. But we, and I say we with confidence that everyone does this, always get the same thing and life should be more exciting than that. So... now that O'Rourkes is back and better than ever, I have to go there AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. And really, I love it.

The charm of O'Rourkes is in everything. It's the grimy lunch-box container exterior with a line out the door and down the street. It's Brian's free lemon-poppy cake appetizer, and the way he personally brings you hot-off-the-griddle snacks (still on the spatula) while you're waiting on line. It's sharing a table with strangers and bottomless cups of coffee. It's the variety... every possible omelet filling God (Brian) has ever dreamed up.

Last week they even brought out the blender whipper filled with pistachio batter and walked table to table with spoons. Where can you find that kind of home-style goodness these days?

I have now been to O'Rourkes three times. First time: "Omelet of my Dreams", meaning carmelized onion pesto (I know, you don't know what that means. I didn't know either. I've decided it's just carmelized onion in a sauce of pesto consistency. It's REALLY good), plum tomatos and hollandaise sauce all over. The thing about O'Rourkes is that you don't always get what you think you're going to get, so it came with red peppers instead of tomato. I really don't like cooked peppers, they're in my top 3 foods I don't like, but I ate this omelet only because of my immense trust in Brian, and now, I might like peppers. Whoddathunk?
Second time: "Cuisine Art", meaning avocado and tomato and veggie hash. But the clincher was in the brown bread, the kind that is probably home made somewhere in Ireland with all the densest carbs that exist. It was so... real. I wanted a big loaf of it in my belly.
This time: Jay Seeley's Santa Fe. Look:

Omelet filled with black beans and cheddar, topped with guacamole, sour cream, salsa, chili and onions. It was more of a scavenger hunt than an eating experience. Each bite was dependent on the right combination on your fork, as well as being well aware to save a bit of each topping for the end and to not overpower the egg. Complicated stuff, this eating thing. But it was really good. My friend Jenny's dad wisely said, "I always go for a simple omelet. Unless it's Mexican."

Take a closer peek:

Jenny opted for a more manageable selection, although sophisticated without a doubt. Her "plum tomato pesto omelet " was filled with sun dried tomatoes, plum tomato pesto, spinach pesto, and cheddar (her own substitution for American cheese.) (side note on American cheese: it's my favorite cheese for omelets because it's not about taste, but texture and melt-ability. Sometimes you want the veggies to stand out, not the cheese. It's all about the ooze.) She like it, it was good. But not to die for, and sometimes you should just stick to what you want, not what you think you should get.

But we finished, have no fear. We never don't finish.


Another successful visit.