Jamaica Station, Queens, New York, where the JFK Airport Link ends and my search for a big American breakfast began.
The place is a ghetto and it soon became apparent that my food options were limited. The only breakfast-place I could find was a scratched-up, slapped-around corner joint called Crown Fried Chicken. As I stared at it, mostly in disgust, I heard the sound of gang frenzy. One kid ran after another, threatening pain with every stride. The fried chicken place would be my refuge.
I walked up to the counter a little nervous. Without the slightest perusal of the menu, I picked out a breakfast set. The friendly woman behind the counter asked me if I wanted beef bacon or turkey bacon. I chose turkey and thought, classy. I was told to sit down so I turned around and surveyed the establishment.