Diner, Don't Ya Blow!

After four years of bemoaning the lack of non-repulsive food sources in this ridiculous town, I think the Old Lady and I have finally decided that it's time to stop bitching and moaning and start seeking out the hidden gems that have to be tucked away somewhere in this victual void. I mean, it can't all be T.G.I McDingleberry's... can it?!

I'm happy to report that the first gustatory gem that we've unearthed rocks the fucking hizzy. Tonight, for dinner, we took the spawnage to a small boite in Lansing called the Fleetwood Diner, and holy fuckshit, it was awesome!



I mean, this place is a real fucking diner, right down to its silver airstream exterior, tin signs on the wall and the 500 page menu. Oh, and it's open 24 hours... IN A ROW! The minute I walked in to the place and inhaled, my nipples shot out like a coupla greasy tater-tots just waiting to be smothered in sausage gravy and washed down with a cup of coal-black mocha java. Okay, that simile just made me ralph into my throat a little, but you know what I mean.

It reminded me a lot of the diners back in Chicago, like the Diner Grill, one of my all-time faves. You can literally order anything you could possibly want out of the phonebook of a menu. Por ejemplo, Miss O got pancakes and turkey sausage patties. Mr. Z got a triple-decker grilled cheese and cheese fries. (I know... we're making him sleep with his ass out the window tonight.) The Old Lady, get this, got the Spanakopita Pie, that came with a cup of Tomato Florentine soup and a salad. This is the woman who fucking hates breakfast foods and diners and she found something she liked. (She'll be sleeping in the tub tonight.)

I was having a fuck of a time trying to decide between going the breakfast route or the sandwich route. It happens every goddamn time. I love the hobo-skillet-style breakfasts -- at the Fleetwood, they call it "Hippie Hash" -- but I'm also a huge fan of the club/reuben/Monte Cristo sammy. My ideal fucking diner meal, as a matter of fact, would be a pile of hash browns with a coupla fried eggs on top, with a pile of cheddar fries and a turkey reuben sandwich on top of that, and then the whole thing would be smothered in sausage gravy. With a side of coleslaw. And a chocolate malt. Man, now my tater-tot nipples are getting even tottier!

Anywhich, I ended up getting the Turkey Reuben and a side of fries and it was stellar. I also had some of Mr. Z's cheddar fries, half of Miss O's pancakes and sausages, some of the spanakopita and a few of the community onion rings we ordered. My colon is like an engorged, 20 foot long chorizo right now, and I've got Crisco coming out of my tear ducts. I probably shaved a good six months off my life tonight and I don't even give a shit.

Oh, and did I mention that we went to Tasty Twist afterwards and shoved some soft-serve ice cream treats into our grease-smeared face-anuses?



Long story short, we will be adding the Fleetwood Diner to the top of our new "Gustatory Greats: 2008s!" list. It's located at 2211 S Cedar St. in Lansing and it better not fucking close, like every other goddamn place we actually like. We've got a coupla other mystery eateries we discovered on the innernecks that we're going to check out next weekend. Who knows... if I manage to rustle up another good restaurant or three, I might someday learn to l-l-l-l... l-l-l-li... l-l-li-lik... tolerate this fucking town.