I really like diners. More so if it’s still housed in a vintage railroad car. I really like how the food, no matter which diner you go to in any part of the US, is pretty much the same everywhere. You know the coffee is going to be weak, but endless refills get you caffeinated anyway and breakfast is always usually solid. I like the history of how the diner began, how it evolved, and how American it is. Often times it’s a bit like stepping back in time if you find a good one – and we did go to a good one right in Venice. A place that has regulars like all good diners should, and is oddly enough run by Europeans (maybe it’s because my cousin’s husband is a German expat, but he seems to know and frequent all the European-owned establishments in the neighborhood).
In related news, the girls have been getting keen on ordering their own food when we go out to eat. While cute, it sometimes ends up confusing because Mia has bigger eyes than her stomach and she’ll try to order all this food that I know she won’t finish, so I’ll try and intercept which just ends up as one mess of an order. Claudine, on the other hand, raises her hand like she’s in class and orders stuff that she likes and eats even if it’s not on the menu. She doesn’t quite get that the food isn’t going to come right after you order, so she’ll ask any waitress that happens to be walking by where her food is. Oy vey.