Sunday Breakfast

Breakfast at the Coral Seas Hotel

Long Beach Island, NJ

Summer, 1980

My Uncle owned the Coral Seas Hotel on Long Beach Island. My cousin owns it now. It’s on Atlantic Avenue.  It sits right on the beach. It has a pool and is close to town. So it is always busy. Right off the main office, there was a small restaurant.  I can’t remember if they served the public.  But on Sundays, we, the extended family, got in the routine of stopping there for breakfast right after church.  I am not sure we were ever invited but that never stopped us from just stopping in for a visit.

Tom made big, fluffy blueberry pancakes. Aunt Peggy poured orange juice and somehow bottles of champagne appeared and we made mimosas. Sometimes the Jameson whisky came out and that was added to the orange juices as well, and then after a while, it was just consumed straight.

For the first breakfast, maybe there were ½ dozen of us.  Then the next week, there were 10 of us.  Then my aunt Jane and her family got word about the pancakes and they stopped by as well. The crown was growing exponentially.

One wall of the restaurant was a window that looked out to the street.  Across the street was a villa that rented rooms.  And eventually, each week, we would see a window on the second floor open up and out would come two or three 20 year olds who were trying to beat the check.  Their backpacks would get tossed to the ground.

One of the three would see us and panic a little bit until we would give him the thumbs up.  And he would gesture back that he appreciated our support.  And as we were laughing away, Uncle Tom would be calling the police.  And as these guys gingerly and stealthy made it down the gutters, the police would arrive.  And our friendship with this group would end quickly. One of them would give us the finger and we would laugh even harder.

My father and uncle would retell stores of their parents, both of whom were strangers to us because they died too, too young.  And with each retelling of the story, facts would be eliminated or embellished, depending on what point was to be made.

They would mimic their father, Doc. “Ah, whiskey. Yes, yes, yes. It warms you up and cools you down.  You drink it when you are sad. You drink it when you are happy.”  And then they would toast each other.

From time to time, someone staying at the hotel would stop in, hungry and hung over, needing something quickly to fend off a raging hang over.  We would tell him that this wasn’t a restaurant and they were still in a fog so it was hard for them to comprehend what was going on.  Usually my uncle got a little more asserted and kicked them out unless he liked this customer who was then invited in to join us.

By the third summer, several of us started bringing our significant others to the beach.  There were a few weddings during this time. So our family was expanding.  Now 20 or 30 of us showed up for breakfast.  It was great fun. My cousin, Nancy, brought her future husband for the first time. Someone handed him a large glass of orange juice. He was unaware that his drink had been spiked. He takes a big gulp and chocks. “Him, how sweet it is", he says and sticks his glass out, asking for more.  He passed his initiation into the family.

 And when the fourth summer rolled around, my father broke some bad news.  Uncle Tom had taken his small restaurant and made it unto his laundry facility.  Our Sunday brunches had come to an end.