Saturday morning we went to Dottie’s, a tiny restaurant on Jones. The day started gray and rainy, so we’d hoped it wouldn’t be too crowded, but the minute we saw the little blue awning we saw the queue. We waited in line, inching forward as clots of people left the restaurant and as many moved in.

Dotties was as noisy and packed as usual, every small table taken, the counter thick with people, behind it, griddle cakes piled up on a tottering stack near the stove. There was only one waitress a slender, dark, doe-like girl who didn’t look to be more than eighteen. I had my usual apple sausages and grilled cornbread, with the most delicious cranberry muffin I’ve ever tasted. It was baked on a griddle, so it wasn’t muffin-shaped, but much lighter than usual because the dough had had space to expand. We ate as much as we could and then hurried out to free up the table, walked home through the rain sated and happy.

Dottie’s True Blue Cafe eventually moved from Jones Street to Sixth, which was a worse neighborhood, but had a much larger space with bigger tables. There was still a line for weekened brunch, but diners didn’t feel they had to tuck in their elbows while eating. It closed for good in 2021, a casualty of the pandemic.