Southern Diners

I have been fascinated by diners for years. No, I should say obsessed. I’m talking about southern diners, not northern diners. I have a history with southern diners. The food seldom tastes that good, but then again, it is billed as home cooking. Average home cooking, not great home cooking. It’s about what they serve. I always check the “sides” first. Like turnip greens, collards, field peas, butter beans, okra. Then the standards like hamburger steak or liver and onions. The technique of choice … fried, fried, fried. Next, I look around. Undoubtedly, there will be vinyl (probably red and probably ripped) and handwritten menus. Ancient, dirty menus are acceptable as well. The ultimate … if there are specials posted on paper plates and tacked all over the walls … then you are in the right place.

Eden, NC must be the Mecca of southern diners. We stopped at a new one on our way out of town on our last visit. It was called Nanny B’s. I think Nanny must be Aunt Bea’s sister from Mayberry. Louis took us there for the hot dogs. I got three (three for $2.89) for Anne and me, and Louis got three as well. He actually gave one to Anne, so I got to keep three for me. In addition, I ordered a thick-sliced bologna burger to go with it. (It goes without saying … sweet tea.) Do not confuse this with gluttony. It is behavioral research. Hot dogs rated high on the differential scale but the bologna came up short. First time customers at Nanny B’s get a free dessert. I thought that was a nice touch.

When you order hot dogs in the South, you need to know the lingo. In most places that means mustard and onions, or mustard onions and ketchup for the toned down version. “All the way” in the South is not the same as “all the way “ in the North. In the South, it generally means mustard, onions, and chili. “All the way and” includes slaw as well. Northerners have never heard of slaw on a dog and generally confuse it with the straw on a camel’s back. Notice that I did not mention relish … nor pickles … nor celery salt. These are abominations to the southern dog. Say those words in association with the words "hot" and "dog", and most likely you have unknowingly drifted across the Mason-Dixon Line. The absence of road kill possum should serve as a verification of this fact.

I have a little diner history. I love hanging out at a diner. When I was younger, I did it all the time. Never ate. Just drank cup after cup of coffee. Surely , the waitresses must have hated me. Here’s a thought … maybe the attraction wasn’t the food. Maybe it was the people! I love the fringes … and watching. I stopped in a diner late one night in a rough section of the town I grew up in. After a while, one of the waitresses asked me what I did for a living and I told her I that I was a teacher. Her reply was, “ That’s not what I heard. I heard that you are a narc”. So much for the merits of sitting alone and watching others. I vehemently assured her I WAS NOT!

I never went back there, but I have been to hundreds of other diners over the years. I never get enough of it … the food … the people … and yikes, the watching. I step through those doors and I am instantly back home. I pull up a stool and consume my past with gusto.

I love diners.