Breakfast has never felt quite like this. There I was, walking into what I thought was an ordinary diner, when suddenly I found myself aboard a vintage train car in Washington with a spatula in one hand and a menu in the other.
The booth velvet was the color of old railroad memories, and the clinking of coffee cups somehow sounded different when surrounded by polished wood panels and brass fixtures.
My eggs Benedict arrived on a real china dish, not plastic, and I couldn’t help but wonder what travelers from a century ago would think of a guy in sneakers enjoying pancakes while virtually time-traveling…