San Francisco is becoming known as much for its cultural icons as its transience; Goldie and Karl may be among the city's most famous residents, but who will step off their shuttle to appreciate them (or even get the reference) before tiring of the Valley hustle and moving on? Nudging those flight risks is SFO, with a ten-year, $4.1 billion renovation plan that included a gleaming makeover of Terminal 3. On a recent Monday morning, a malfunctioning coffee maker at Peet's sent bleary-eyed stimulant-seekers across the candescent T3 walkway to Max's. This seemed to surprise no one more than the cafe itself, which is constructed for every meal but breakfast: customers at the end of the line were not shown scrambled eggs and croissants, but fresh vegetables neatly segregated into sleek metal sectionals. Above the compartmentalized garden, Max's two-panel salad board took first spot on the menu lineup. The breakfast menu did exist - six feet down the line, above the cash register, implying that Max is not accustomed to a long morning queue.
Nonetheless, staffers dutifully embraced the entrepreneurial ethos and gamely expanded into the breakfast adjacency. The four women behind the counter operated frills-free, playing operational leap frog: a cashier called for "next order?" while her outstretched hand still held a receipt, then shimmied past a coworker managing the toaster (and another retrieving a bagel from the pastry case) to process the next transaction. And like any good Bay Area citizen, they too knew how to pitch: when a twenty-something in line ordered "Just coffee", the cashier-cum-assembler took on an incredulous look. "Just coffee? No muffin?", implying that Max's had a rich history of breakfast service and that "no muffin" was a disturbing outlier. "No," the twenty-something confirmed. "Add a muffin for $1?" she countered gamely. "No, thank you." Recognizing she did not have an adopter, the woman gave up, filled a cup, and simply orphaned it behind the counter...not unlike a bored software engineer who gets a better offer.
As for the food, this diner chose incorrectly by leaning on a breakfast staple - the egg and cheese sandwich - which filled the caloric need but also left a mild grease hangover often born from food that is delicious and/or of questionable origin (perhaps Max de-prioritized his breakfast menu for a reason). More agreeable would have been a custom breakfast salad, as selected by the bespectacled woman behind me. "Any good?" I asked. "We'll see," she replied.
We didn't see - she left.
Nonetheless, staffers dutifully embraced the entrepreneurial ethos and gamely expanded into the breakfast adjacency. The four women behind the counter operated frills-free, playing operational leap frog: a cashier called for "next order?" while her outstretched hand still held a receipt, then shimmied past a coworker managing the toaster (and another retrieving a bagel from the pastry case) to process the next transaction. And like any good Bay Area citizen, they too knew how to pitch: when a twenty-something in line ordered "Just coffee", the cashier-cum-assembler took on an incredulous look. "Just coffee? No muffin?", implying that Max's had a rich history of breakfast service and that "no muffin" was a disturbing outlier. "No," the twenty-something confirmed. "Add a muffin for $1?" she countered gamely. "No, thank you." Recognizing she did not have an adopter, the woman gave up, filled a cup, and simply orphaned it behind the counter...not unlike a bored software engineer who gets a better offer.
As for the food, this diner chose incorrectly by leaning on a breakfast staple - the egg and cheese sandwich - which filled the caloric need but also left a mild grease hangover often born from food that is delicious and/or of questionable origin (perhaps Max de-prioritized his breakfast menu for a reason). More agreeable would have been a custom breakfast salad, as selected by the bespectacled woman behind me. "Any good?" I asked. "We'll see," she replied.
We didn't see - she left.
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