By the Secret Diner –
In our last review for The Breeze, Mrs. Secret Diner and I reviewed Spencer Makenzie’s, 806 E. Thompson Blvd. Check them out — and tell them The Secret Diner sent you! Read on and guess where we’re off to next.
It’s hard to know how to dress in Ventura County. Asking Alexa or listening to Russ Maloney’s forecast rarely helps. They say the same thing every day: sunny and 70. Russ tries to differentiate between the coast and inland areas, but the brushstrokes are too broad. Watching folks out front of our place doesn’t help much either—you’ll see shirtless athletes and crop-topped joggers passing walkers bundled in puffy coats and Ugg boots. Wetsuited surfers paddle out past bikini-clad swimmers. It’s a paradox: mostly the same every day, yet within that sameness lies a wide spectrum of climate expression. That bright sun can be marbled with cold wind, and at any moment a bank of marine layer might crawl in and gray out the day—here but maybe not over there.
As Mrs. Secret Diner and I have explored Ventura’s food scene with intention, we’ve noticed similar culinary microclimates across the county. The boundaries are not sharply defined, and there’s plenty of overlap, but they’re there. Seafood and beach cocktails thrive by the pier and in the harbors. Everyone has a favorite taco spot on The Avenue. Downtown’s Main Street is restaurant-heavy, while strip malls along Telegraph and Telephone serve up delicious diversity.
For our most recent mission, we found a wonderful lunch spot whose menu offers a climate for almost any taste or mood. We ventured out on a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon. The buzz of pedestrians and auto traffic made parking a challenge, but once inside the small mall’s lot we found a row of open spaces, reserved by signage for diners rather than the other popular neighborhood activities.
Inside, large photographs of vintage pickup trucks lined the walls. After ordering at the counter and settling into an elevated booth, Mrs. Diner and I picked favorites. “Which do you want?” I asked. She chose the turquoise ’64 C-10. I could see myself behind the wheel of a sepia-toned ’48 3800 series with a wooden box.
The truck photos are divided by tall, epoxied “cutting boards,” some painted with foamy waves. A growing lunch crowd filled the booths, with additional four-tops along one wall. Each table held a small tray of single-serve condiments: ketchup, mustard, mayo.
Digital menus hung over the counter above chalkboards listing specials in bright colors. Options ranged from breakfast and burgers to salads, wraps, tacos and tri-tip—yes, even tri-tip tacos. (Quick aside: Mrs. Diner scolds me often for yucking someone else’s yum, but I remain surprised people eat tri-tip when brisket exists in the world.)
I ordered the Western burger with chili cheese fries. My dining companion chose the chicken Caesar wrap and fries. To drink, we both went for peach tea from a self-serve bank of flavored tankards; I cut mine with lemonade for a peachy Arnold Palmer.
Our food arrived quickly. Sandwiches came in shallow stainless trays, and my fries were served in a paper boat. The first bite of chili cheese fries had me hooked. The chicken in Mrs. Diner’s wrap was perfectly seasoned, moist and tender—not the dry, flavorless squares of frozen meat one risks with wraps. Bourdain disdained brioche burger buns, so he would’ve approved of the hearty roll that held my Western. The onion ring was crisp, and the barbecue sauce tangy—an excellent ketchup alternative.
Typically, we would’ve bussed our table, sighed contentedly and headed out, talking about what we’d order on our next visit. But not this time. We decided to add milkshakes to go. I chose strawberry; Mrs. Diner went for pineapple coconut (a splash of rum would’ve made it heavenly). Hand-dipped and blended in stainless tumblers, these shakes were worth the visit alone.
Think you know where Mrs. Secret Diner and I were? Check back soon to find out if you’re right! We’ll reveal the name of the restaurant in our next review.
