I have experienced more open bigotry over my food choices than regarding my status as a gay Jew. People have sneered at the fact that I prefer eating dry cereal without milk, and that I adore marshmallow Peeps, which some folks consider a form of packing material. And this morning my partner John and I did one of our very favorite things: we went to IHOP.
We’ve visited IHOPs all across the country, and we’re thrilled that IHOP is finally staking a claim in NYC, with branches in Harlem, on 14th Street and a rumored flagship in Times Square. John and I like the IHOP just above Houston Street, right across from the community recreation center which doubles as the facade of a police station on the TV show Person of Interest. New York remains the fictional crime capitol, thanks to shows like Law & Order SVU and Elementary, with a dead hooker or a mutilated stockbroker behind every dumpster.
My childhood IHOP, in New Jersey, still favored the Swiss chalet look, with a peaked roof, mullioned windows and windowboxes brimming with plastic geraniums. All of today’s IHOPS look soothingly identical: the walls are always the color of a ripe band-aid, the carpeting is always a sooty grey, the artwork is always a few evenly-spaced canvases of apples or flowers, and there are never any tablecloths; the waitperson just tosses you a paper napkin wrapped around a few basic utensils. This should all be depressing, but it’s not; IHOPS are always clean, and they resemble a luxury dining spot in, say, the Ukraine. The menus are thickly laminated, the soundtrack has just switched from Motown to Johnny Mathis Christmas carols, and the staff is always friendly, and able to cheerfully ask things like, “Have you tried our Rooty Tooty Fresh ‘N’ Fruity?”
IHOP is also one of the few restaurants where, through the artful use of whipped cream and banana slices, many of the entrees have faces. I bet that at Bouley, the food never smiles at you.
A trip to IHOP is like leaving town; because John and I sat up front, we could still see the street and the river. It was like Ohio with a view of the West Village.
I have never had a bad buttermilk pancake at IHOP, and I prefer the Old Fashioned Syrup – you’ll notice that the name doesn’t even reference any sort of maple flavoring. There’s always a syrup caddy which includes other choices, such as Strawberry and Butter Pecan. This caddy reminds me of a gift set of international aftershaves.
But make no mistake: John and I do not appreciate IHOP ironically. We genuinely love it. And this weekend IHOP introduced an additional holiday menu, with pumpkin-flavored everything and eggnog pancakes. I’m hoping for a limited-time-only syrup called Santa’s Blood.
December 1, 2013
