By The Secret Diner –
In the last review, Mrs. Secret Diner and I dined at Cafe Fiore, 66 S. California Street, Ventura. Please check them out. Tell them The Secret Diner sent you! Read my latest review and see if you can guess where we dined next.
Busy work schedules meant Mrs. Secret Diner and I had to arrange to meet up at our next dining destination, a place we’d talked about often but until now had yet to visit. I arrived first, finding some street parking though there are plenty of spots in the lot adjacent. A server offered me a booth or one of the two-tops that run down the center of the dining room.
I slid into a booth near the door, ordered a Sprite and a plate of onion rings. I paged through a menu heavy with options. Chromed wire baskets at each table hold salt and pepper shakers, sweeteners, ketchup, and a large bottle of Tabasco. Creamers rest in a small bowl.
I felt, sitting there contemplating the many choices, that I’d been transported both in time and space. The diner is reminiscent of a deli New Yorkers would recognize instantly. The vibe is warm, nostalgic. The patrons, all regulars, or made to feel so. This must be what a 1950s lunch counter was like: neon signs, and whiteboards with the specials handwritten in grease pen, deli cases with pastries, meats and cheeses for purchase. I’d be taking a slice of pecan pie home for sure.
Nostalgia is strange, filters the past through rose colored glasses, paints over the pain, slows time down. Mrs. Secret Diner and I were due for some memories served up warm with a side of gravy. She arrived at about the same time as our onion rings. Mrs. Diner ordered a Coke, and dipped her first ring into a generous cup of ranch. I like this, she said. They don’t skimp on the ranch. The drinks, chilled by ice cubes like dice, are served in tall plastic tumblers, those textured opaque ones you remember. Our onion rings, breaded and hot, ate with a satisfying crunch. These weren’t the gaudy, beer-battered, sexier appetizer you might find at the hip new brewery. They were homey, comfortable. Delicious.
I love her tattoos, Mrs. Diner said of our server who sported an arm of art deco designs. They matched the diner’s aesthetic as if intentionally.
Mrs. Diner surprised me with her order. I was certain she’d go for the meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Instead, she asked for the triplet salad, scoops of tuna, chicken and egg salad on a bed of fresh greens. I went for a deli classic, pastrami dip and fries.
Diners like this are story hubs, disparate lives drawn in tight by the gravity of scratch cooking – platters of chicken, bowls of Matzah ball soup, brisket and pastrami. Mrs. Diner and I watched our fellow diners, imagined their stories. Those two, she said, have been house shopping today. She’s pregnant, and they are wondering which school their new baby will attend.
What about them? Oh, they were in the military together. They meet here once a month, always order the same thing. Look, those two ordered the same thing we did. We giggled. We watched another couple lost in their phones and not speaking to one another. She wore pink sweats that matched her phone case.
Our food arrived and we paused our storytelling to eat. My sandwich was hot and savory, the au jus steaming, fries crispy. Mrs. Diner spooned dollops of her salad onto bagel chips. I left only a few fries on my plate. Mrs. Diner asked for a box for what was left of her salad.
To take with us, we ordered slices of pie. Coconut cream was Mrs. Diner’s first choice but they were out. She settled for chocolate cream, and I ordered pecan. We are going to have to come back, you know. I want to try the meatloaf. I wonder if the fried chicken is as good as Moonlight’s.
Stepping back through the doors and out into the night, I could feel time speed back up, started thinking about what I have to do tomorrow. Last one home is a rotten egg, I said, and walked to my car.
Think you know where we dined? Check out my next review to see if you are right, and to join us on our next adventure.
