I am shamed. This is the Platonic Form of Diner, and my first visit is sinfully today. Chicken soup screams Diner. Bar stools at lunch counter scream Diner. Waitress with thick European accent of indeterminate origin screams Diner. Perch from Lake Erie screams Diner. Mom and I gorged ourselves for $15, also, of Diner. You could lift this joint by helicopter and drop it in Manhattan tomorrow, all of NYC would praise the Diner Gods on bended knee without ceasing.
And you, YOU who have kept this place your secret Diner Nirvana, who are you people? You are sinners against all that is Diner, in league with scribes and pharisees. All that is good and holy and of Diner, you speak of it not, lest your fellow diners seek nourishment from the font of Diner. Repent!