Diner Desire

It’s about dinner time, and I’ve got a deep, gnawing desire for some diner food.

Give me a place where I can sit at a counter on a bolted down stool that spins.  Give me some kitschy decor, an old Coke sign, and a large guy flipping burgers on a grille.  Give me the smell of french fries snapping and crackling in a deep fryer.  Give me a joint with a blue plate special, meat loaf and mashed potatoes and brown gravy on the daily menu, and fresh-baked pies on display in a circular glass case.  Give me a nylon-uniformed waitress named Madge, or Gladys, or Bunny who calls me “Hon” and maybe snaps her gum, besides.

They call diner food comfort food, and that’s exactly what it is.  Sometimes you have a hankering that only a piece of Swiss steak, some mac and cheese, a piece of coconut cream pie, and a hot cup of black coffee can satisfy.

1 thought on “Diner Desire

  1. I so much agree. I needs me a blue plate special. The death of the diner is dumbing down the US of A. When I first arrived in the windy city there was a place called the Minute Snack shop. It had one special for ten years; meatloaf, mash potatoes and peas. Diners were social leveling. All types of people, from hard hats to appellate lawyers could meet and greet and cuss about the Cubs.

    At the risk of reeking of the misogynist, I blame the demise of the diner on chicks who click their heels at healthy eating at the expense of living large simply. Then again, there is a little coffee concern, that has happen on the american scene, know as Starbucks.


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