Char Broil Family Restaurant. Family owned since 1940 (sort of. Read their history on the website and it gets more complicated). Google calls it an “unfussy spot.”
Char Broil during morning breakfast rush: a veritable who’s who of Brighton town notables. Especially on a Friday, which this was not. You might see the town supervisor, or some local fancy lawyers in their suits, or, usually, a corner booth taken up by a bunch of high school students. Once it seemed like the entire boys’ lacrosse team was there. Another time, a girls’ team. Go Barons.
Bo ordered the Charbroil Special: two pancakes, two eggs over hard, two pieces of extra-crispy bacon. No real maple syrup here, but luckily Bo still had his little petri dish of syrup left over from the Parkside Diner outing. Dave ordered two eggs, sunny-side up, two pieces of bacon, and an English muffin.
Char Broil is extraordinary for its unfussiness. There is always more than enough parking. You walk in and seat yourself (the sign says so. Obey without question). Past the rotating display of cakes, pies, and pastries, and off you go to one of the subsections making up a veritable sea of booths (there might be tables, too, but who remembers stuff like that?). Window booths let you look out onto Monroe Avenue. More window booths let you look out onto the pinetum and jiffy lube next door. There’s a counter for CounterFolk. There’s an interior sector for those who prefer their breakfast eating to be more cavernous; go spelunking for your coffee and eggs.
Diners started to filter in during the 7 o’clock hour. There were booths of old guys and booths of young guys and booths of regular guys.
The food came rather quickly.
Oh yeah, Dave got fruit. The waitress claimed that Dave’s fruit was fresh. But like, how can it be fresh? Dave was all, “Dude, it’s totally fresh.” But Bo was like, “Brah, it’s melons and pineapple in upstate New York in April! Where are those coming from?” And Dave’s all, “Yeah maybe like on a truck or something…” And, get this, Bo goes, “I guess it all depends on how ‘they’ define ‘fresh.’ ” Truth pearls were a-spilling out over the table faster than a Springbok traverses the plains of Namibia (so, fast, but there are two things that are faster. (on land, at least)).
Bo’s eggs were fine. The pancakes were fine. The bacon was crispy and fine, without being burnt. You don’t really go to Char Broil for weird specialty items (although the Bennys are intriguing). You go there for fine food. It is a fine diner. You don’t come here to get fussed. Or to fuss. You come here because you’re unfussy and want to stay that way, or because you’re in need of unfussiness.
Dave’s food was reliably reliable. The eggs were sunny-side up and were pleasantly runny. The english muffin was toasted just past the point where Dave likes them; happily the crispness provided structure to the muffin while soaking up the yolk. The bacon, also crispier beyond Dave’s preference, was smothered in tasty seasoning that more than compensated for the fact that it wasn’t served near-raw. But the crowning achievement of the meal was the fresh fruit. There are no #10 cans in the kitchen with “fruit in syrup” at Char Broil. No siree, this fruit is freshly cut and served (a rarity among xonut venues). Bo commented that fruit that is fresh cannot be fresh if it is transported to Rochester. But he was wrong. This fruit was fresh.
The whole tab came to about $18. You don’t order at the counter. But you pay at the counter.
With 10 as a must-eat, this dining experience rates a 9.
Don’t Miss: Dave says to get the fresh fruit. Bo says enjoy your fruit, but let’s not get too cavalier with adjectives now.
Pro Tip: Look up pictures of the Brighton Town Supervisor, Board, and Justices before you go. You just might see some! Bring headshots and a signing-pen.
Pro Tip #2: Never fly your kite where power lines go.
Pro Tip #3: Make sure you sit in the right section. There’s. Well. Hmm… Don’t be afraid to switch sections if your server is mean. Just sayin’. We were lucky this time. No, not luck. We chose… wisely.
