Most new restaurants open with a vision. A celebrity chef, a concept, an identity. Then the chef leaves, the hype fades, and the food regresses to average. The vision becomes a vague memory of what the place used to be.

Diners don’t have this problem.

The diner doesn’t regress. The diner might innovate a bit — I see breakfast burritos on menus or “no carb bacon and egg” options. But, on the whole, the food never changes. It’s basic and easy.

The greasy spoon diner, not the modern retro takes that pop out, know what they are and live it. They are a no frills “joint” low-cost provider of calories. You don’t go there for the fine dining or the “experience”. You go there because it’s consistent and easy on time and the pocketbook. But that’s not enough.

At the diner you might find people holding court and solving the world’s problems. Those people tend to be 65+ and tend to have it all figured out. You also see rebels hell bent on solving the worlds problems and they definitely have it all figured out — they are sub 18 years of age. And you see everything in between — families, loners, office worker types, construction worker types, truck driver types, paper readers, regulars, odd people, normal people. What you don’t see are people showing up to get noticed. It’s a place to notice, but not to be noticed.

There’s a beautiful observation — such a simple and functional place attracts such an assorted variety of people for a multitude of reasons. I think it’s the simplicity and functionality of the space — you don’t go to a simple and functional place to take an Instragram photo of yourself or your $50 avocado toast. You go to a place like that because it’s the kind of place where you or others aren’t compelled to take an Instagram photo of yourself or your $5000 avocado toast. That person doesn’t always show up at a simple neighborhood diner, and perhaps that’s attractive to those who love them.

I love a diner. I would happily have my last meal at a diner. And, especially a diner where there’s patina on the patina. Where the server, who’s worked there their entire life and knows the life stories of all their regulars, is smoking a cigarette (the George Webb’s of my childhood, can’t smoke indoors anymore) while handing me pancakes. And where food is simple and consistent. A place that knows what it is, while being it, amidst an evolving world.

This, my love letter to Michael’s Family Restaurant in West Allis. One such diner.

Last modified on 2026-01-28