As Three's Company proved to us so many years ago, three is a magic number. In that spirit, the third diner in as many years will occupy that coveted spot on Walnut Street. John Fry guarantees us it will be a "greasy spoon," but as this New Jerseyite knows, there's more to running a dinner than overcooked mozzarella sticks. Without further ado, Scubbin' presents our own five Quick-n-Easy steps to running a diner.
ONE: It's out of Greece
To any New Jersey resident, Greeks and diners are naturally grouped together. I sat down with Alex Papadikis, chairman of the New Jersey Diner Association, to discuss this phenomenon:
Jarrod Koenig: So what is it with Greeks and diners?
Alex Papadikis: Greeks know two things, Jarrod. One is chest hair, the other is cheap, tasty food.
JK: Now why are Greeks associated with this?
The Papa: Well, genetics play a slight role, but Greeks truly cultivate their fuzzy-chested style. Chest hair is a symbol of power and masculinity, that a man is in charge of his household.
JK: I hoped to explore the connection between Greeks and diners.
The Papa: Exactly--the chest hair signifies that a man is in charge of his diner.
As I made a side note to cancel my chest waxing, this reporter moved on to research the connection between the Ancient Greeks and diners. It turns out that the first diner was set just south of the Acropolis in Ancient Athens--it was a favorite of Aeschylus. Zeus and the deities tended to cure their weed munchies with the Olympian Feast at the Parkway Diner in Ewing, N.J.
TWO: It's in the grease
The Iron Quadrilateral of Diner Cooking is the solid foundation of eggs, bread, processed meat and grease, upon which all diner food is based. Of the four, it is the grease that adds the distinct flavor that patrons have grown to love. In fact, in Mr. Food Cooks, Volume 12, Art "Mr. Food" Ginsburg redefines a stereotype or two by making the moniker "greaseball" a tag that diner owners wear with pride (not just Italians anymore).
THREE: The Manager
The diner manager is the lifeblood of the diner experience. Generally, it is the wife (or mistress) of the hairy-chested owner. Most important in a manager is a snappy first name to counter their cacophonous last name. Just ask Dot Soropodopolous, manager of the Horizon Diner in Manahawkin, N.J.
The manager is more than just a pretty name. She must also have the perfect combination of motherly instinct, tasseled hair and raspy voice that only comes from 30 years of chain smoking. Picking up a quarter from the floor next to my table, Dot always finds a minute for some good town gossip, usually concerning the waitress having an affair with my neighbor.
FOUR: The Waitress
The diner waitress is a rare breed. Physically intimidating, emotionally difficult, dressed like trailer trash and communicatively impaired, most operate solely in binary code:
JK: I'll have an egg and cheese sandwich, with home fries.
Waitress: Menu says order by number.
JK: OK, so that's a 15 and a side of 67. And a large coke.
The ideal diner waitress, though, fills up your coffee before you finish, finishes a conversation without using a single verb and is always ready to provide the weary traveler with a quick parking lot frolic for a 15-percent tip. (FYI, The large coke is number 42, and it's actually RC Cola.)
FIVE: For the Patrons
Notwithstanding all of the above, a diner is defined by its clientele. Knowing it will most likely be a motley mix of silver-haired Early Bird eaters, high school truants and drunken frat boys, you shouldn't slip your Gucci flat-soles into a diner without knowing a thing a thing or two about how to dress. Sure, eating in the plastic caddy at Eat at Joe's required the perfect 1950s retro-chic outfit, but your greasy spoon ensemble should be more of a Las Vegas meets K-Mart theme.
Tipping takes the form of $1 per item served and an extra 50 cents each time you are referred to as "sweetie" or "hon." Call me cheap, but like Officer Floyd, "Don't call me late for dinner." Or late to the diner.
