Maa! The breakfast!
Maa’s: You, sir, should come out
Straight outta the 50s. Ike Eisenhower would approve.
It’s right on Empire Boulevard. Surrounded by the modernness of modern Webster, Maa’s is a landmark removed from time. Like the stone thing at the end of The Lorax, or the Baghdad battery.
We entered. There was a specials board that announced our fate. Our density. It was unavoidable. It was our doom. (In like the medieval sense, not like the scary Dr. Doom sense).
Sauce.
Careful where you sit in here; the early morning sun can wreak havoc on your eyes. Bo and Dave were made in the shade.
Also of note: free WiFi! How does a 1950s diner accomplish such a thing?? Don’t think about it.
Bo ordered the special: cinnamon raisin french toast with raspberry glaze. Dave ordered the breakfast sandwich BUT he wanted Polish sausage added for a slight upcharge. Money was no object; Bo was paying.
Bo’s french toast was out of this world! It was an ancient astronaut, coming to greet his progeny millennia after making contact with a primitive.
The raspberry glaze was well-proportioned. It was not pie filling (although pie filling is not necessarily a bad thing). The raspberry glaze was also required, as Maa’s is not a carrier of Real Maple Syrup. If you’re not careful, this sweet-but-not-too-sweet food item will disappear down your gullet faster than you can say “Pad kid poured curd pulled cod”! Or, like, before you can snap more than one picture.
French toast focus 
Sandwich focus
Dave’s sandwich and hash were totally rad. The shred was shred to perfection. They were also cooked to perfection. A pinch of salt and a dash of pepper, and they were good to go.
And the sandwich was the ginchiest. Polish sausage atop melted cheese atop an egg atop the heel of a bun. A lot of atops = a lot of flavor. It may be exponential, actually. The scientists are still working it out.
It wasn’t the special Polish sausage that made the sandwich bad (bad meaning really good – seriously, catch up on your 1950s slang). The loft in the bread was bitchin’. The cheese melt level was bitchin’. The egg was bitchin’. Dave (who reliably gets breakfast sandwiches as a barometer for food goodness) ranked this one in the top 1%.
There were SO. MANY. MORE. types of pancakes and such on the menu. Seriously you could come back here like every week as some sort of ancient-astronaut-worshiping-ritual and have a different pancake each time.
You pay at the counter. But if you’re really nice the waitress might just take it up for you.
Bo and Dave beat feet outta there after Bo paid.
Don’t Miss: The variety of all sorts of pancakes.
Pro Tip: Early risers beware – the morning sun hits most of the seats in this place. If you don’t enjoy sun in your eyes with your flapjacks, sit in the booths not affected by the dawn juice.
Word from the bird.
