Diner-Inspired Air Fryer Home Fries

I stopped at a little diner once while I was traveling. I don't remember the name of it, but it was one of those places with red vinyl booths, a pie case by the register, and a little bell on the kitchen counter that nobody seemed to pay attention to.

I like those kinds of places.

The waitress came over with a pot of coffee before I'd even opened the menu. She was a little lady with white hair, glasses on a chain, and a pencil tucked behind her ear.

"Morning, honey. What can I get you?"

I ordered two eggs over easy, wheat toast, and home fries.

She wrote down the eggs and toast but not the home fries.

I wondered if she'd forgotten them, but I didn't want to be difficult.

A few minutes later she came back with my breakfast, including the home fries.

They were the best home fries I'd ever eaten.

The potatoes were golden brown, with little crispy edges and soft centers. There were onions mixed in, cooked until they were sweet and just a little brown themselves. Everything had enough salt and pepper without being too salty or too peppery.

I ate all the potatoes before I'd finished my eggs.

When the waitress came back with more coffee, I told her how good they were.

"Oh, those are easy, honey."

I asked her what they did differently.

She told me they cooked the potatoes ahead of time, let them cool, and then fried them on the griddle with the onions.

"The trick is to leave them alone," she said. "Everybody wants to keep pushing them around. You have to let them get brown."

I thought that was interesting because I tend to move things around when I'm cooking. I like to make sure everything is getting equal attention.

Apparently potatoes don't appreciate that.

We got to talking while she refilled my coffee, and she mentioned she'd been working at the diner for forty-seven years.

"Forty-seven years?" I said.

"That's right."

I wondered how old she'd been when she started.

"Thirty-four," she said.

I did the math in my head.

Then I did it again because I thought I'd made a mistake.

"You're eighty-one?"

"Eighty-one last March."

Well, I was astonished.

My mother had been retired for several years by then. She seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. She watched her programs, went shopping when she felt like it, and didn't have to get up early unless she wanted to.

I couldn't imagine her getting dressed and going to work three mornings a week.

"Why are you still working?" I asked.

Now, I realize that's probably not a very polite question to ask somebody you just met. But she'd been so friendly, and I was genuinely curious.

"Because they keep putting me on the schedule," she said.

I laughed.

She didn't.

Then she smiled a little.

She told me she'd actually retired once. The diner had thrown her a party, everybody signed a card, and the owner bought her a nice watch.

She stayed home for eleven days.

On the twelfth day she called and asked if they needed anybody for breakfast.

"Eleven days?" I said.

"Longest eleven days of my life."

She told me her husband had passed away years earlier, her children were grown, and she didn't particularly enjoy sitting around the house. She liked seeing her regular customers. She liked the girls she worked with. She liked having somewhere to go in the morning.

And she liked complaining about having to go to work.

"Can't complain about work if you don't have a job," she told me.

I thought that was a pretty good point.

I asked if she ever got tired.

"Of course I get tired, honey. I'm eighty-one."

Then she went off to refill somebody else's coffee.

I sat there thinking about what I'd be doing when I was eighty-one.

I couldn't come up with much.

I hoped I'd still be cooking. Maybe I'd have a little garden. I'd certainly want a dog around, although I suppose it would have to be one that didn't need to run five miles every morning.

Fortunately, I already have one of those.

We understand each other pretty well.

While I was thinking about all this, the waitress came out of the kitchen carrying four breakfasts. She set each one down in front of the right person without asking who'd ordered what.

I had forgotten where I parked my car that morning.

I found that a little discouraging.

When she came back to my table, she noticed my potatoes were gone.

"Well, you certainly liked those home fries."

I told her they were wonderful and thanked her again for explaining how to make them.

"Want some more, honey?"

I told her no, thank you. I'd had plenty.

She went into the kitchen anyway.

A minute later she came back with a little plate of home fries and set it beside my coffee.

"Here. These were extra."

I don't know whether they really were extra, but I ate every one of them.

I left her a nice tip.

I've thought about that lady quite a few times over the years. I never did get her name. It's funny how you can spend twenty minutes talking to somebody and learn all sorts of things about their life without remembering to ask the simplest question.

I don't know if she's still working at that diner. She'd be getting close to ninety by now.

I hope she is, if that's what makes her happy.

I started making my home fries using her advice, although I've made a few changes over the years.

I don't have a restaurant griddle, so I use my air fryer. I leave the onions out, partly because I like my potatoes plain and partly because I use them in other recipes where the onions would just get in the way.

It turns out the air fryer is very good at leaving potatoes alone. It only needs one shake, and I'm not sure it really needs that.

I think that lady would have approved.

They're good with eggs, hamburgers, or just a little ketchup. And they're especially good underneath everything else on one of Uncle Timmy's Rochester Plates.

The hardest part is not checking on them every few minutes.

Fortunately, the air fryer has a window.

I don't think that waitress would have approved of how often I look through it.