Where to start. Well, the cleanliness of the "restaurant" rivals that of a chimpanzee cage at the zoo after a being neglected for a decade. Rusted chairs that may prompt you to get an appointment for a tetanus shot after sitting in them. Flat wear and cups that were pressed into service in the early 70s and pose a safety hazard. Trip hazards abound, which seems odd considering the average age of the customers hovers around 70; one fall could end it all.
Moving onto the wait staff, it is obvious if you are not part of the club, you are treated differently. Scowls, impatience, and eye-rolling incredulity is par for the course along with the lingering stench of cheap cigarette smoke emanating from their shabby clothes. I don't think the issue is one of cognition concerning the complexities of over-medium vs over-easy, I just think it is a well-honed, highly polished sense of indifference.
At any rate, we arrive at the heart of the matter: the food. It is diner food, which is why I went, I like diner food. Perusing the food-stained - latest offers stapled to it - menu, you find a broad selection. We ordered up the huevo rancheros, chicken fried steak, and the salad bar. The only thing that didn't come out of a can on the salad bar was the lettuce itself. I can handle that. What I can't handle is a chicken fried steak that would give beef jerky a run for its money in the realm of amount of chewing it would take to break it down. Coupled with an absolutely flavorless breading and the distinct flavor of years old oil it was fried in, it provides for an olfactory and gustatory experience akin to eating feces. I considered bagging up the 99% I did not risk projectile vomiting to finish, and take it to my dog. After realizing this could lead to charges of animal cruelty, I passed.
As far as the huevo rancheros go, their should be a special Latin-American food court that establishments like this could be brought before, and held accountable for defamation of cultural cuisine. Note: if you are having difficulty mastering the pancake, do not attempt such rare and exotic delicacies such as the taco.
All of this failure has a bright side. The ambiance is second to none. You will get stared at more by the locals than a topless dancer would be ogled by 14 year old boys. The kind of stare that 3 year old children accomplish because they have not developed social skills yet. Of course it is not a lack of maturity that drives this behavior, but rather a pack mentality that lets you know you are not welcome.
Final analysis: If you like to stick to everything you touch/sit on, have a craving for bland, dreary food, and an absolute desire to saturate your body with lard, this is the place for you. You can hang out with the locals and reminisce about the good-old days of segregation, lynchings, and systematic oppression. On the other hand, if you value your time and digestive track, I would advise you to battle some vultures over three-day old roadkill. It will be a far more rewarding culinary experience. read more