I love diners. I'd go so far as to say that they are my favorite American invention. The thrill of sliding into a shiny pleather booth, however uncomfortable, never falters. When I was a kid and living on West 10th Street, I was a regular at the Joe Jr.'s on 12th Street and 6th Avenue. We would eat lunch there as a family on Saturdays, after my sister and I played in a basketball league at the nearby P.S. 41. Once I was in my early teens and could be out and about without a chaperone, it's where I dined most frequently with friends and went on dates with my first boyfriend. After all, it was cheap: a cheeseburger—griddle-seared, impressively juicy, served on a soft bun, and
Take me out to the diner
Take me out to the diner
Take me out to the diner
I love diners. I'd go so far as to say that they are my favorite American invention. The thrill of sliding into a shiny pleather booth, however uncomfortable, never falters. When I was a kid and living on West 10th Street, I was a regular at the Joe Jr.'s on 12th Street and 6th Avenue. We would eat lunch there as a family on Saturdays, after my sister and I played in a basketball league at the nearby P.S. 41. Once I was in my early teens and could be out and about without a chaperone, it's where I dined most frequently with friends and went on dates with my first boyfriend. After all, it was cheap: a cheeseburger—griddle-seared, impressively juicy, served on a soft bun, and