Counter Culture:
Diners are Good for Your Heart
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Wednesday Special: True Love with a Side of Fries

So, you've found your diner. You walk in around lunchtime, the vibe is right, there are no step-dancing waitrons, and the cheesecake is set on auto-spin. A few stools away from you, a Jason Sehorn lookalike sinks his teeth into tuna melt. Where to go from here?

How to Speak Diner
Time to teach you some Diner Talk. Like diners themselves, Diner Talk should be low-key and low-maintenance (and never low-cal). If you scoot over and sit next to Mr. Tuna Melt, you need not introduce yourself with a formal "Mind if I sit next to you?" Just nod, toss in a half-smile, and say, "Hey, how ya doin'?" Or, if you're up for it, plunge right in with an intimate food comment: "What's the call: American or Swiss?" "What's the soup?" "That's a mighty fine looking piece of pie." You're in a diner, dammit, not some BP brasserie. For all Mr. Melt knows, you're just here to eat, and eat heartily.

No need to strain your axons for the ultimate how-do. Just use what's right in front of you: the menu, the grub, the inexhaustible need for condiments. Like those three little words only your mother says to you, "Pass the ketchup" can hardly be uttered too many times, or with too much feeling.

Support Your Local Dinermen
Like the smoke from grill and the clatter and bang of silverware, dinermen are an inextricable part of the scene, and moreover, they are paid to help you. Why not take advantage? Getting chatty with the guys who work the counter can pay off big-time. I've gotten so buddy-buddy with the dinermen at Cozy's Soup 'N' Burger in New York City that they've hung my photo on the wall, right up there with Linda Carter and Alf. Beat that for a conversation starter.

Furthermore, your morning-muffin small talk with Nikos gives you an opportunity to show all your fellow counter jockeys just how damn approachable you are. And this can segue nicely into a side-by-side chat. As mutually beneficial relationship emerge (big tips = free fries), you can even turn your Dinerman into something of a confidant/co-conspirator. Think of him as a bartender who slings milkshakes instead of G&T's.

Reading the Napkins
Still having trouble speaking up? Fear not. The countertop is laden with subtext providing not-so-subtle clues about those in your midst. Let's say you're a 4 p.m. coffee break regular at the Cosmic, where you habitually flee the Midtown grind in search of a lil' pick-me-up. Settling into your favorite counter spot, you spot Ms. Thing a few stools away, polishing off an afternoon breakfast. Well, you need hardly mutter hello when there's a whole personality profile just under your (her) nose.

Consider: What kind of woman orders pancakes at teatime (unconventional/amnesiac)? Has she given her selection the full-on syrup-drowning treatment (not afraid to splurge), or do the scattered half-open jam packets indicate she's a nibbler (delicate, but with a mellow fruity finish)? Observe, also, table manner: Does she leave a trail of wadded-up paper napkins in her wake (turbulence ahead), or does she scrape and stack her own dishes (anal-retentive/former waitress)?

Thanks for Coming!

Even if you don't lock eyes with true love tomorrow at lunch, joining the Counter Culture has its perks: free refills, nonstop behind-the-scenes entertainment (before there was Iron Chef, there was Grill Cook), a taste of down-home no matter where you are. Play your cards right and you might even share wall space with Emilio Estevez. So get cozy, let the milkshake machine whirl, and know that -- even in this jet-set age, where love springs virtual and most rings are cellular -- in some places, "the fundamental things apply, as time goes by."

Pop another quarter in the jukebox, sugar, and play one for me.

Margot Ebling would like a grilled cheese with tomato, a side of fries, and a chocolate shake, please.

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