Well, let’s just make it Diner Day all around, shall we? (See Lisa and Bill’s blogs for further diner experiences.)
The nice thing about diners is that, within reason, you know what to expect and you get it served with a hefty slice of Grade A Americana. Nobody else has diners really, and most civilized nations congratulate themselves on that fact. It’s nonetheless comforting to sit down in deluxe chrome and formica splendor to a nice plate of eggs, scrapple and grits, and nice hot coffee.
My faves? Surely you’ll expect North Baltimore’s sacred Bel-Loc (also known as the Belch-a-Lot) to top the list, but really I prefer the Double T on Pulaski Highway – not, mind you, the newer, overblown fifties-ized Double T’s in Glen Burnie and Catonsville. Also high on the list are the Triangle in Winchester (good show, Lisa!), the Blue Star in Newport News and the Tastee 29 in...well, whatever municipality it is in Northern Virginia. I have a feeling that it was built on a lonesome stretch of nothing that eventually became haut suburbia.
Which brings us back to Babylon-sur-Hudson. Hands down, the best meal I’ve ever had in New York was not really in New York proper, but in Brooklyn. Never mind that pesky unification back in 1900; I still think of Brooklyn as a separate and infinitely more pleasing city. Brooklyn is normal. It has big buildings but nothing ridiculous; it still has ethnic neighborhoods, it has a big downtown department store that looks almost exactly like Hutzler’s in Baltimore, and it has Junior’s at Flatbush and DeKalb.
Junior’s is the kind of place that still has little jars of pickles and chow-chow on the counter so that you can help yourself before your food arrives. When the food DOES arrive it’s delicious and there’s a hell of a lot of it. Last time I was there I had a tuna melt. Served openface, that sandwich gave Raquel Welch a run for her money. And oh! that cherry pie. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to...er, wherever they make really really good cherry pies.
The people in Brooklyn are also normal. Walking along Flatbush I saw crowds of people of various races; nice little old ladies with shopping bags, school kids, businessmen and telephone linemen. In Manhattan, on the same trip, I saw lots of people wearing Prada. Men and women, all wearing Prada-ish stuff, and all wearing clogs. Men, in my experience, look absolutely foolish in clogs, unless they’re chefs, in which case it’s an occupational standard rather than a Look. The clog wearers were invariably nattering on their cell phones to broadcast their importance to the world. The Brooklynites were mostly shopping and eating, which are rather more normal pastimes.
Anyplace where restaurants still have chow-chow trays, I could call home.
The nice thing about diners is that, within reason, you know what to expect and you get it served with a hefty slice of Grade A Americana. Nobody else has diners really, and most civilized nations congratulate themselves on that fact. It’s nonetheless comforting to sit down in deluxe chrome and formica splendor to a nice plate of eggs, scrapple and grits, and nice hot coffee.
My faves? Surely you’ll expect North Baltimore’s sacred Bel-Loc (also known as the Belch-a-Lot) to top the list, but really I prefer the Double T on Pulaski Highway – not, mind you, the newer, overblown fifties-ized Double T’s in Glen Burnie and Catonsville. Also high on the list are the Triangle in Winchester (good show, Lisa!), the Blue Star in Newport News and the Tastee 29 in...well, whatever municipality it is in Northern Virginia. I have a feeling that it was built on a lonesome stretch of nothing that eventually became haut suburbia.
Which brings us back to Babylon-sur-Hudson. Hands down, the best meal I’ve ever had in New York was not really in New York proper, but in Brooklyn. Never mind that pesky unification back in 1900; I still think of Brooklyn as a separate and infinitely more pleasing city. Brooklyn is normal. It has big buildings but nothing ridiculous; it still has ethnic neighborhoods, it has a big downtown department store that looks almost exactly like Hutzler’s in Baltimore, and it has Junior’s at Flatbush and DeKalb.
Junior’s is the kind of place that still has little jars of pickles and chow-chow on the counter so that you can help yourself before your food arrives. When the food DOES arrive it’s delicious and there’s a hell of a lot of it. Last time I was there I had a tuna melt. Served openface, that sandwich gave Raquel Welch a run for her money. And oh! that cherry pie. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to...er, wherever they make really really good cherry pies.
The people in Brooklyn are also normal. Walking along Flatbush I saw crowds of people of various races; nice little old ladies with shopping bags, school kids, businessmen and telephone linemen. In Manhattan, on the same trip, I saw lots of people wearing Prada. Men and women, all wearing Prada-ish stuff, and all wearing clogs. Men, in my experience, look absolutely foolish in clogs, unless they’re chefs, in which case it’s an occupational standard rather than a Look. The clog wearers were invariably nattering on their cell phones to broadcast their importance to the world. The Brooklynites were mostly shopping and eating, which are rather more normal pastimes.
Anyplace where restaurants still have chow-chow trays, I could call home.
posted by Daniel | 9:59 AM
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