The651.com

If the fabled counter at Mickey’s Diner could talk, I imagine it could tell some of the greatest stories of our generation.  Mickey’s has been open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, for the last 70 years.  In that time, it has seen and fed a group of characters so thick with dudes, nut jobs, and hilariously normal working folks that the place is a real life Coen Brothers movie.  On a recent visit, my son and I got in line with ten other folks who looked like they were straight out of Central Casting.  After a short wait, we took the last two seats at the counter.  Murphy sat right up against the window, swirling on his stool. 

It was a mass of humanity at Mickey’s.  A pair of United States Marines sat down on my right, warmly nodded at us, and quickly got down to the business at hand.  Then a no-necked guy (wearing a shirt that said “You Talking to Me?”) plopped down at an open stool and snapped open a newspaper.  A few minutes later, a family (fresh from the Children’s Museum located across the street) squeezed into a booth and joyfully ordered some lunch.  Next, a man with a Santa beard and plaid shirt walked the length of the counter and tried to sit down next to me on my left.  He couldn’t see my five year old son behind my big head and the row of Marines, so the man got his rear end about a foot away from crushing Murphy.  I set my arm out to stop him and it awkwardly looked like I was trying to hug the man’s waist. 

“Ohhh, I’m serry,” Santa man said, as he put the brakes on his landing pattern.  “I couldn’t see da little guy there.  Thought the stool was empty.”  The man returned to the throng at the front door and dutifully re-took his place in line.    

A waitress shimmied her way down the counter towards us and asked, “What-a-ya-havin’ down here?”

“Grilled Cheese and fries.  Bacon Cheese Burger, onions, and fries,” I answered.  (Note: When faced with a waitress that looks likes she could calmly serve up food in a hailstorm of bullets, it is best to keep your order simple.)

“Got.  It.”  She replied and walked away. 

Then the line cook went to work.  On a small stove, he flipped buttermilk pancakes, scooped up hash browns, and put a huge steel plate on top of some Canadian bacon.  Eggs were fried up in split seconds.  Waffle batter was poured into a black coated griddle that looked so old it just might have been the very first waffle maker ever made.  After a few minutes, the cook then flung out seven plates of food like a ninja throwing stars.  The no-nonsense waitress made her way down the length of the legendary counter and dispersed all the plates of food in single file fashion.  We were the end of her line, so she put a little extra zip into serving up our plates.  She paused and held a sweet eye on Murphy. 

“Enjoy,” she said.  How could you not?

What:  Mickey’s Dining Car

Where:  36 W. 7th Street

Hours:  Whenever you want.  It’s open 24 hours.