Entering Chubby's Diner is like stepping back in time to
happier days. Stainless steel sparkles and 1950s music sets the
stage, while yellow neon musical notes decorate the back wall.
Vintage metal signs advertising Pepsi Cola and Vitamilk pepper the
white walls, along with colorful prints of classic hot rods.
Eight swiveling stools hug the L-shaped counter, hovered over
by vaguely UFO-shaped pendant light fixtures. There are eight
booths to choose from as well, wrapped in black vinyl speckled
with silver and lined in yellow piping. A glass and steel straw
holder rests on the table, reminding me that I'll need to return
to try that strawberry shake.
Even at 10:45 a.m. on a Monday morning, Chubby's was turning
over tables. Two regulars sat at the counter chatting with the
server, one large booth held a group of state troopers, and the
booth next to mine held what looked like a vacationing family,
whose young daughter kept peeking over at me and grinning shyly.
A pile of the day's newspapers were lined up on the counter for
browsing. I enjoyed my piping hot cup of coffee over the comics,
reading a paper that had already seen its share of sticky syrup
from someone's high stack.
I ordered my old grad school diner standby, the ham and cheese
omelet, served with grilled potatoes and toast. With a ding of the
bell underneath the massive and gleaming stainless steel oven vent
behind the counter, my order was up.
An oblong, heavy china plate held a gaggle of grilled potatoes
flanking a fluffy omelet brimming with small squares of salty ham
and shredded cheddar cheese. The potatoes were served exactly as I
like them: some slices soft and just done, others cut smaller and
cooked to a crisp. I topped them with a bit of ketchup from the
red squeeze bottle on the table and dug in.
My husband and I returned for dinner a few nights later. Again
the place was doing swift business, and although there was only
one server this time, she was efficiently handling all her
customers.
"Surfin USA" and "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin'
On" resonated at a tolerable level while we mulled over the
menu. I opted for chicken strips, while my husband went for the
Rock-n-Roller hamburger. We also ordered that strawberry shake I'd
been looking forward to trying.
The young cook working the grill really fit the '50s mold:
white t-shirt sleeves rolled up, short hair with long sideburns.
And he made a mean diner meal in a flash.
Our strawberry shake arrived quickly, served in a tall, heavy
malt-shop glass, alongside the chilled container it was created
in, half-full of even more of the sugary goodness. A mountain of
thick whipped cream rested atop the insanely flavorful sweet treat
and on top of that a bright red maraschino cherry.
"Can't touch our buns," declared the T-shirt our
server was wearing — and it's true! The bun encompassing my
husband's hamburger was impressive. Tall, light, simple and
distinctively homemade, it complemented the petite but flavorful
hamburger patty, piled high with mushrooms, tomato, pickle,
iceberg lettuce, onion, a dollop of special sauce and a slice of
cheese. A heap of large-cut french fries shared the plate, with
just a bit of skin left on to add taste and texture. The fries
were hot and crisp, yet not at all greasy.
My three substantial, crisp chicken strips were served on a bed
of iceberg lettuce with a wedge of lemon. I would have enjoyed
some sort of dipping sauce, but in the end, the savory strips
stood well on their own. Just like the french fries served with my
husband's hamburger, there wasn't a drop of residual grease to be
found on the heavily breaded chicken pieces. We were impressed.
My side salad comprised crisp iceberg lettuce, ripe tomatoes,
cucumber, shreds of carrot and a large handful of fresh mushrooms,
a nice touch.
We spied the remains of a two fresh berry pies displayed in a
case by the cash register on our way out, directly below a board
listing all 18 flavors of malts and shakes. The strawberry shake
had sated our sweet tooths, but we'll try a slice next time.
The downhill slide for diners began in the late 1950s, when
fast food restaurants proliferated, displacing the eateries as a
source of economical eats to those in a rush. It's sad, really. I
much prefer the personal experience offered by Chubby's. You get
fresh food in nearly the same record time, an infinitely more
satisfying experience, and the bonus of a genuine, friendly smile.
