Smoke and Mirrors Issue 2 - Review of John's Diner
Review of John's Diner
by John Chambers
MEMORANDUM
TO: Mr. W. G. Caldwell, Senior Editor Washington Daily Journal
FROM: Jeff Epstein
DATE: March 28, 1993
SUBJECT: Review of John's Diner
I have completed my assignment to review John's Diner for next Thursday's Dining Out section, although I admit I am somewhat confused concerning this matter. Although I have grown accustomed to many people in our fair city having some well placed political connections, it baffled me as to why we would even consider publishing anything about this particular restaurant. I have since learned that things are not always what they seem. Following is a collection of the notes which I have compiled concerning my recent visit.
- - -
Somewhere along J Street near the heart of our nation's capitol can be found John's Diner, an unusual dining establishment. If you follow J Street past the last of the male transvestite hookers of DuPont Circle, going not quite to the fake Rolex vendors of Georgetown you can locate the newest of Washington's pubs.
John's Diner is sandwiched between the "Magic Crystal," a shop which advertises metaphysical books, crystals, herbs and palm reading by FAX, and a small rare bookseller who also peddles lottery tickets, cheeses from around the world, and tatoos. It's an easy place to spot, mostly due to the very creative and colorful neon sign which flashes "EATS" in letters approximately four feet tall. Beneath this monstrosity John boldly hawks his "Steaks, Chops, Cocktails, Beer, Wine!" -- also noting that the Diner is open "24 hours."
Once my eyes managed to readjust and react to this visual assault, I peered through the plate glass windows to note that a few people were actually seated in the diner - in spite of the "CLOSED" sign which was displayed prominently on the door. A slight push to the door allowed me entry into one of the more unusual places this reporter has visited.
The violation of my optic nerves which had been so painful on the exterior of the Diner continued in earnest on the interior. John's Diner is filled with a collection of some of the most unusual furnishings I've ever seen, a collection even the Salvation Army would reject.
The bar was the least offensive of the furnishings, and was of a highly polished cherry wood with the standard brass rail. As I turned my head from the bar I spotted 5 booths which were obviously original equipment for the diner when it was first furnished in the early nineteen twenties. The booths had apparently not been refinished since their installation, and boasted numerous tears, rips and abrasions - many creatively mended with duct tape or merely covered with scraps of cloth. In addition to the booths there were five or six tables, all different sizes and shapes. These ranged from 1950s type formica and chrome dinette tables to heavy round wooden antiques, all in a state of obvious disrepair. I noted that several of the tables boasted huge chess sets and scrabble boards. The odd collection of tables was only surpassed by the accompanying chairs. Truly a yard- sale-junkies' gold mine, they consisted of every possible shape, color and height. There was even one obviously broken Barco-Lounger which had been retired from use in some suburban home.
I returned my gaze to the bar where a smiling, bespeckled man was wiping the polished surface with what appeared to be an old pair of boxer shorts.
"Hi!" he said, "what can I do for you?" I noted a distinctive southern drawl in the voice, and walked toward the bartender saying "Hi, I'm Jeff Epstein from the Washington Daily Journal. I stopped by to take a look around for a possible article. You are?" The man behind the bar beamed and motioned to one of the bar stools bearing numerous strips of duct tape. "Have a seat. John Chambers, owner and barkeep." He stuck out his hand and continued, "Coke or coffee? Don't have my liquor license yet."
I asked for a coke, and watched John disappear around the corner of the bar. Located on the wall behind the bar was one of the most fascinating paintings I had ever seen. It was a view of Picadilly Circus in London, and was painted to show the busy street scene at sunset, just after a summer storm. I gazed at the painting for a moment, then noticed "John's Diner" on the left in pink neon, positioned over one of the windows in the painting; on the right side, in yellow, "Lucia Chambers, 1992" painted in as a theatre marquee.
To my left was a painting of swirls of blue and white, with a placard underneath titling it "ANGELS by Michael Heinich DO NOT TOUCH."
John returned with my coke and offered to show me around.
The first thing I noticed was a table in the corner of the bar that was covered with a high structure made of saran wrap -- it looked like a greenhouse. "Oh, that's my wife Lucia's orchid collection," my host explained. "Touch it and you're dead meat." I didn't touch it.
We moved on, and John pointed out the ornate ceiling moldings, custom-made by Phil Gottfredson, an incredible mural above the front door of a french cafä street scene by "~MAX~" (Maxine Urso), and The Bookcase. I should have noticed it sooner, because it ran the length of wall along the longest row of tables. I jotted down some titles: "The Collected Stories of Michael Hahn," "Ruby's Pearls Collectors' Set," "Poetry In Motion," "The Poetry of Cecilio Morales," "Recipes by Dave and Jane Winer," and "Bedtime Stories, by Franchot Lewis."
Perched above The Bookcase, standing on a wooden dowel that supported an incredible tapestry depicting the art of winemaking, was a huge blue and gold macaw parrot, staring down at me with general disfavor. He was just plain menacing.
John told me the tapestry was by Karl Weiss and the bird's name was Cosmo. He said Cosmo was just a kid and didn't bite. I didn't believe that for a second.
John opened a couple of doors and I couldn't see too well, but one was a storeroom, another was the bathroom, and there was a huge room he called "The Back Room" where a couple of people were screaming at each other in Spanish.
John offered me a meal and I accepted, expecting the worst. However, John explained that while no-one fussed over any of the decor except the orchid collection and the artwork, that John's Diner was about the best food to be had in the District of Columbia! The menu is a gourmet fest. John explained that the dining consultant, John Wallace, has made a superb collection of dishes from different cooks in the area. I took some notes off the menu: John's Teriyaki chicken, Dave's Chili, Jane's Baked Grits, Dave's Foccacia bread, Jeff's Pasta Salad, Debbie's Chicken Salad, Lucia's Rosepetal Patä, John's Bundy Burgers...
I ordered the chili. It was delicious, and, I was told, contains a special ingredient that Dave Winer will only tell while on a "Birdwalk," whatever THAT is.
I was so impressed with my meal, I asked John to introduce me to the cook. John dragged out of the Back Room this guy who was whining and screaming in Spanish and wringing his hands. John said, "This is our chef, Raoul, please tell him you're not with Immigration. He doesn't speak much English. We found him in a shopping cart out in the alley."
Then, a tremendous noise shook the building. The walls shook, the glasses rattled, and I thought we were having an earthquake. A huge motorcycle pulled onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. The front door blew open. The biggest guy I have ever seen in my life stood in the doorway, blotting out the sun. This wild-eyed fellow, well over six feet tall and covered with tatoos, stared into the diner. He made a Hell's Angel look like Don Knotts. Suddenly I heard a woman's voice coming from behind the man, "Get out of my way you idiot!" and he was pushed aside by a petite woman with green legs who barged into the bar yelling "John, Lucia! We're here!"
The giant looked at the saran-wrap tent, his eyes grew big, and he rushed over exclaiming "Phalaenopsis! Lucia added a new Phalaenopsis! Give me some coffee while I look at the new orchid!"
The petite woman ran over to the macaw, yelling "David Look It's Cosmo! We have fruit testicles Cosmo you sweet thing lookie what Del brought for you!"
I didn't want to know.
While Motorcycle Man "David" gushed over the orchids and "Del" fed Cosmo strange yellow things shaped like walnuts and Raoul broke into tears at the entrance to the "Back Room," I decided I should leave.
That's when I noticed the incredibly beautiful black Steinway partially hidden behind the front door. The Steinway, as shiny and professional as it looked, had some odd assortment of caramel and chocolate stuck into the strings. John Chambers wouldn't say what had happened to the piano except "Ruby" which I presume has something to do with an exploded dessert glaze.
On top of the piano was a little bulletin board with some green thumbtacks stuck into it. Ripped pieces of paper and dollar bills were taped to the outer edges. Some of the tape was old and yellowed, but the the newest covered a yellow post-it note that said, "Pen and Brush, (703) 644-5196." I plan to follow up some time, and give that number a call.
-end-
Copyright (c) 1993 John Chambers
