By the Secret Diner –
From my last review, did you figure out where Mrs. Secret Diner and I ate tacos? We reviewed Pierpont Tacos, 1125 S. Seaward Avenue, Ventura. Do give them a try. Tell them The Secret Diner sent you.
Now for my latest review – can you figure out where we ate pizza?
When I was a kid, long before Mrs. Secret Diner and I were an item, I’d spend Sundays outside. If the weather was warm, my best friend and I floated a small jon-boat on the backwaters of the Mississippi River charting submerged stumps, tracking the migrations of sandbars, and locating the best spots for catching bass. In the fall and winter, we stalked the coulees and bluffs with shotguns hoping to flush a grouse or pheasant. Our only sustenance on these adventures was a twelve pack of Mountain Dew and a carton of Camel Lights. We hadn’t yet lived enough life to know what the “Sunday Scaries” are, but we had inadvertently discovered one of its best remedies.
These days, I will employ one of two tactics to try and keep Monday and its accompanying anxieties at bay. Hyper-activity and the frenetic pursuit of diversions like emptying the litter box or vacuuming the car works great but tends to make time move quickly. Its opposite, complete sloth, burying myself under a blanket with a book or phone, binging bad tv, slows the clock but there is a concomitant guilt I could do without.
On a recent Sunday with a Diner deadline looming, Mrs. Secret Diner suggested we get outside. Let’s walk somewhere by the water, and let’s see if we can find somewhere fun to eat, she suggested.
We began our adventure wading exposed tidepools, poking about for anemones and crabs. One day, we hope to encounter Pulpo! an octopus. Surfers cut elegant turns on waves stacked up like cordwood. Our hike had conjured an appetite, and we headed inland in search of lunch.
We didn’t have to go far before we encountered a brightly colored cabana. A band plugged in gear and tested the sound. Staff stocked a beer fridge for the outside bar, and patrons began arriving carrying their own chairs. Oh this is the place! We settled in for an epic afternoon of people watching and New York style pizza.
We scored a shaded hightop near the sidewalk but with easy access to the bar and a clear view of the band and dance floor. Like many places Mrs. Diner and I visit, counter service is the game here. We queued up behind a few others and contemplated our order. While there are salads, starters, and some desserts, the only real choice is toppings for your pizza. There is a variety of “slice specials,” but Mrs. Diner and I went with a medium pie, a speciality named after the restaurant. Because Mrs. Diner didn’t want pepperoni, we asked for ½ without ronies. We were hungry, so we ordered wings, too, buffalo-sauced. If you can’t find something to drink from their selection of choices, you just aren’t thirsty. Mrs. Diner and I went basic, classic – two bottles of Pacifico with a wedge of lime.
The band counted into its first number. Syncopated drums, a funky baseline, horns. Brick House brought dancers to the floor, and most didn’t sit down again until the band took their first set break. Before this first song ended our pager buzzed; the pizza was ready. We slid the pie out from the paper bag it came in. Both the dough and sauce are scratch-made daily. The crust of our pie had enough spine to stand up and not sag, a satisfying snap to the first bite and yet comforting and doughy inside. Our wings were meaty and slathered with a rich, nuanced sauce, not the cliched orange we often get.
We were wiping greasy fingers and balling up used napkins when the band launched into its second set. A man sitting next to us shouted, “Here we go!” and he rushed to the dance floor. There was one dancer, the gravitational center of the dance floor (he even danced to the house music through the set break) whose enthusiasm was contagious. He was easy to spot for his neon green, a real dancing machine. He was joy incarnate, a beacon. Hope in a world tipped sideways.
Do you want another beer, Mrs. Diner asked. Hell yeah. Monday was a million miles away.
Think you know where we dined? Check out my next review, when all will be revealed!
