Meet Jenny Sheets!

Jenny Sheets has split her life between the Fargo-Moorhead area and Montana, which means she knows I-94 far too well and exactly how far she can stretch the gas tank until running out (the off-ramp to Beach, ND, to be exact.) She currently lives in Moorhead, MN with her husband and three-year-old son, Henry Danger. She’s trying to adopt a puppy but needs to convince her husband that it’s as good an idea as having a baby during the pandemic. Each month, Jenny will bring her perspective to Fargo Monthly on a meandering topic of her choosing: childhood memories, Fargo favorites, a nagging gripe, illogical opinions, something from a dream, new obsessions, or all of the above at the same time. If you want to praise her writing and quick wit, you can find her in person trail running by the river, biking, stuffing her face at BernBaum’s, or sipping beers on a patio.

Jenny talks the humbling experience of a $10 breakfast

On a food scale from picky eater, to eater-of-everything, to foodie, I might tip the scale to total food snob. I love raw oysters, black truffles, garden fresh tomatoes, and elk steaks cooked over a campfire. Before you scoff, don’t hate just yet: I also love greasy cheese pizza, jalapeno poppers (who doesn’t), and my god, I can devour a corn dog. I don’t need fancy—but it has to be Good.

While traveling, I am the least fun food date because I refuse to wander into an unvetted establishment and take a chance on unknown quality. I must first thoroughly read the menu, observe the patrons coming and going (do they look pleasantly satisfied or do they have the meat sweats?), attempt to scour the web for reviews, and even chat with the chef if they’ll let me.

I told you: I’m the least fun.

But if you let me choose, despite our hunger pangs and the fact that we’ve walked 12 miles in the blistering sun, I guarantee I will find us delicious, memorable food from a Michelin-starred restaurant, food truck, or a pop-up stand in a dead-end alley. By this point, my husband and son have staved off hunger with an array of gas station food, but when we all take our first bites of heavily researched and completely vetted food, everyone is happy.

I tell you all of this because I recently acted completely out of character and made a spontaneous breakfast pilgrimage with my son one fine summer morning. Left without preschool over the Fourth of July, and with my husband away for work, I wanted to plan a fun outing with Mr. Henry Danger. I considered the hipster spots downtown and the swanky coffee shops with $10 lattes, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone or wonder if my outfit was “downtown brunchy” enough. I just wanted breakfast. And then, like a sunny-side-up divine intervention, I got a craving for the classic no-frills diner and remembered that we were only two blocks from the beacon of diner light: the Village Inn.

We approached the restaurant from the employee entrance since we were on foot. Pedestrian access to the restaurant gets a failing grade, however, our moods were boosted as soon as we walked in the door. Unlike some restaurants where we have to wave our arms for ten minutes before a host will even roll their eyes at us, here we were quickly greeted by a woman with a big smile and bright eyes. She led us to a table by the window and brought Henry crayons and an activity sheet. He couldn’t believe his luck at four brand new crayons, all to himself. Our server, Cassy, was friendly, kind, and extremely prompt. She told us she was an elementary school teacher and worked at the restaurant during the summer, which explained her organization and friendliness. I ordered a coffee and Henry squealed in delight when I said he could get chocolate milk.

The menu evoked nostalgia as I scanned familiar options found at so many classic American diners: omelets, pancakes, waffles, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, and pies. So many pies. Henry, too young to read, loved the pictures of items he could choose from on the kid’s menu. Cassy returned with our drinks as we were ready to order. I am one to drink my coffee black, but I must confess that I ordered cream on the side because I was skeptical about the quality. However, let me tell you, that cream went untouched. At 8 a.m. that morning, the Village Inn coffee hit the spot. Henry picked out eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. I ordered the “VIB: Very Important Breakfast” special, where you got to choose an array of items for one low price. I ordered two eggs, homestyle potatoes, a waffle, and fruit. And get this: between 6-9 a.m., it costs $8. I’m sorry, what? Eight. Dollars.

Henry and I caught up on current events, like if the red or green monster truck was better, and the status of the red squirrel stealing bird seed in the backyard. While he colored I watched the other patrons as they enjoyed their morning meals. If I could guess, I’d say the average age was 72. And that average included Henry at age 3. But I loved it. There was a calmness to the room; a contentment without pretension and the “who’s watching whom” culture often found at more hip foodie joints.

In less than ten minutes our table was covered in steaming eggs, crispy potatoes, and aromatic bacon ready to be devoured. I have always been a firm believer that your mood and surroundings impact the taste and experience of food. About ten years ago, after walking all day in Vietnam, my husband and I were lost in a part of town with no restaurants. There were lamp stores and entire blocks devoted to picture frames and plumbing supplies, but absolutely no food.

And then all of a sudden we turned down an alley filled with food vendors cooking on the dusty street. The most delicious smells wafted up and, without reading a single Google review, we sat down on low plastic chairs and pointed to whatever was in the first pot we saw. A mix of hunger, excitement, wonder, and the adrenaline that comes with travel, made that one of the best meals we’ve ever had. Not to mention it was cooked to perfection in a pot that looked like it had been passed down for generations. When Henry and I took our first few bites at the diner and he approved with a resounding “yum!” I didn’t know if it was the quality of the food, the wonderful service, or having a spontaneous date with my son, but the Village Inn breakfast that morning checked all of the boxes. We left with a few waves to nearby seniors smiling at Henry, our bellies satisfied, and, since kids eat free, we did it all for $10 plus tip.