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Haddock, No Breadcrumbs please....

For a brief but fun period of my life I cooked in a diner.

Not the greasy spoon kind but the hip and trendy sort. A place off a rural highway in Pelham, Massachusetts filled with funky local Art, massive colorful beanbags, an open mike and organic coffee. Helping out the friend of a dear friend whip up desserts, fresh panini, soups and noodle salads with my sunny personality and astute knowledge of running a restaurant. Okay, so the latter is truer. My personality more charming than sunny.
Over the course of the next few months one particular older gentleman would come in at least once a week. When I say older I mean an elderly man in his mid 80's. A widower certainly, always well dressed and always arriving in his immaculate cream colored Mercedes Benz.
His name was Larry and we hit it off immediately one afternoon over talk of cars, particularly Mercedes Benz of which I was an enthusiast. It didn't matter our vast age difference which he mentioned more than a few times in c…

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