The last summer my store was open a nice family from Brooklyn blew in. They had bought an old diner in a nearby town and loaded up with retro items that fit the character of a diner and the setting in the Catskills--a wooden box filled with ice fishing tackle, enamel mugs, a lantern, an aqua breadbox (and more) and went on their way.
I'm happy to report that The Phoenicia Diner is thriving. Great food, setting and service. Right now I'm dreaming of the Farmer's Skillet: potatoes, bacon, and cheese topped with two sunny side up eggs, served in a cast iron skillet. Fuel for a day of hiking, skiing or reading by the fire.
Diner breakfasts remind me of my father. He was one for spontaneous road trips, and he took me on several during my troubled teenage years. We travelled California in his old Land Cruiser, from San Francisco to Los Angeles, Oregon, Monterey, Half Moon Bay, Big Sur.
Plenty of diners along the way. Always eggs over easy, rye toast and black coffee for him. There's something comforting about diners--they're familiar, not demanding.
(Unless you're Jack Nicholson.)