Diner Abuse

I don't get bars at diners. The two are completely and utterly incongruous with each other.

Yesterday evening, I had plans to meet my friend Mo at the gallery where she works on the Upper East Side. Since it was closed and she was running late with key in-hand, I ducked out of the gray April showers into Viand Restaurant on Madison Avenue. With thoughts of a private showing of 6500 pounds of Jeff Koons art dancing in my head, I settled into a powder blue stool at the counter and ordered a cup of joe.

The joe was fine. Not too flavorful, but drinkable nonetheless. It was exactly what one expects from diner coffee.

And, right in front of me was the diner's bar - which featured not one name-brand liquor that I could recognize. It is exactly what one expects from a diner bar.

The names you ask? So glad you did: Philadelphia Whiskey, Poland Spring Vodka (yes, you read correctly), Ashby's Gin (couldn't find a single link on Google or Yahoo! that mentions it), and Tortilla Gold Tequila.

Frighteningly enough the bottles were almost empty. I didn't even want to ask how long it took for them to get that way. Or, even scarier, who drank the stuff. Have a strange feeling that its the same poor saps that actually order Lobster Tails when they go to a diner. I've never met one, but I've heard stories - and they're not pretty.