At the Diner

The Somerset Patriots' alternate identity

 

We had dinner at the diner tonight.

It's a diner I've passed by so many times but had never been to.

So the diner food was consumed. Burgers and sandwiches and the like.

For the record, I had a grilled mozzarella cheese sandwich with fries.

The attendees of the dinner at the diner then turned to business.

As the food and carbonated beverages were consumed (I had water), people spoke and said whatever they had to say.

It was peaceful.

Civil.

Appropriate.

You can only hope that it was impactful and that all messages were delivered and received.

The skeptic in me is on full alert but I'm trying to be positive.

If nothing else, the food was good.

When you travel, you understand that not everyone has diners like we do. In fact, it's a very regional thing. Growing up, I spent so much time at the Crompond Diner near Peekskill that we were pretty much known by name.

We played the jukebox and got Reggie bars and lollipops.

And the diner -- the real diner -- looked like or actually was a railroad dining car.

Of course, time moves on but the diners of this region still exist. They're so entrenched in this area that the Somerset Patriots -- the AA affiliate of the Yankees -- will take the field as the Jersey Diners for three games this season. The hats and jerseys reflect that of the diners in New Jersey and elsewhere.

Around these parts, that's what you did after a night out. Whether it was a night at the movies or a night of partying, the diner was the place that was open, climate-controlled, and reasonably priced.

For families like mine, it was the go-to. Even when I'd get sick of it, that's where we'd be going.

In Mahopac, we had the Olympic Diner. Open 24/7, I've been in there at a variety of hours, including before dawn to grab breakfast before driving to Florida when I was a teenager.

In Greenwich, we have a couple of places that are diners, including Glory Days up on US 1, though it's not a 24-hour place. It's close, closing at 3 a.m. on the weekends.

Sean and I would frequently go to the Red Line Diner in Fishkill for our father/son dinners back in the day. We still go back occasionally and the food is still good.

At the diner where we gathered tonight, we recalled our own diners, with stories shared about stumbling in at four or five in the morning after working a late night shift.

Thus the atmosphere of the evening was created.

Sometimes we take the trusty diner for granted and, to be honest, they have changed. You might not buy candy and a newspaper at the register anymore. But hopefully, the vibe has remained the same.

They need to have a local feel where you want everyone to maybe know your name and know how you take your coffee. You almost expect the waitress to be playful and everyone is known as "Sweetie."

They need to feel like a microcosm of the area.

What you don't want is a chain. Diners like that are pretenders. Unless it's Waffle House. Then again, Waffle House isn't making you a Monte Cristo sandwich. Nor would I want them to do so. Besides, we don't have Waffle House locations around here. As you likely know.

But then you leave the region -- essentially New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut -- and realize nobody else has the diners like we do. That's where Waffle House is!

Nothing was like the Crompond or the Olympic, even if they tried with vinyl booth benches and tableside jukeboxes.

The great diner has a huge menu and breakfast is available at any hour.

And the grilled cheese is a standard.

Comfort food. And a good cup of coffee.

This diner did the job for tonight.

We move forward.