NVM Review

By Warren Rojas

When one ornery regular complains about runny eggs, the Yorkshire waitress quickly fires back, “the chicken probably drank too much water.” An innocuous inquiry about the availability of fresh cranberry juice is likewise shot down, but not before the silver-tongued server adds, “and we ain’t got no vodka neither.”

Welcome to breakfast as community theater.

Much like the yellowing calendar tacked up above the register—forever frozen on December 1950—breakfast at the Yorkshire feels like a trip back to the era of true hometown diners. Locals pound coffee, smoke and gripe about “the rich people up in Fairfax and Sterling.” Tables double as billboards for local businesses. • And when the waitress assures you that “you get a good-sized portion no matter what you order,” she ain’t lyin’.

A farmer’s special brings a gloriously salty ham steak—a bone-in monolith of cured pork surrounded by a ring of buttery fat—that’s a shade away from qualifying as a diuretic. The breakfast club is a good-looking sandwich stacked with bacon, ham, eggs, lettuce, tomato, mayo and cheese. Meanwhile, the titular Yorkshire omelet folds bacon, sausage, ham, peppers, onions and cheese into fluffy eggs and surrounds it all with hash browned potatoes and cakey, homemade biscuits.