An Open Letter to Santa Cruz Diner
As the only 24 hour restaurant on the west side of Santa Cruz, I think that you are positioned to be a dining cornerstone of the town, Santa Cruz Diner. And I have tried endlessly to treat you like the cornerstone I wish you to be. On my 20th birthday, for example, after catching the midnight movie, I gathered my birthday group and brought them to you. Sure, there have been nay-sayers. Those student restaurant snobs who would put you down, claiming that you were little better than an over-priced Denny’s. I, however, defended you, point to the stellar breakfast dishes that I had ordered so many times and the wonderful personality that the decor of the restaurant highlighted.
From my very first visit onward, I remained fairly consistent in the plates I order from you. The country scramble—eggs and sausage atop a biscuit, smothered in gravy with a side of hash brown—although very beige looking, not once did me wrong. The omelets were a joy each and every time I ordered them. Up until recently my experience with you, Santa Cruz Diner, had been just this, these wonderful breakfasts, with an occasional milkshake. But I grew bored of these item and I began to feed my late-night cravings with items from parts of the menu beyond the breakfast section.
When I ordered the clam chowder and it turned out to be a bowl of bland, I let it go. I figured perhaps the vast amounts of amazing clam chowder I’ve tasted had spoiled me. Then I gave your fettucini alfredo a try, and I began to lose faith in you. Alfredo and parmesan cheese on top of noodles is rather difficult to make bland. Once again, I kept the faith. Lunch and dinner are not, at least in my opinion, the strong suit of a diner. The strength of any decent 24 hour diner is, of course, its breakfast and appetizers. Breakfast because, after all, it is a diner and appetizers because as a 24 hour establishment you are making a play for the late night snack market.
With this in mind, and not being nearly hungry enough to eat a breakfast plate, in my most recent culinary adventure with you I ordered a diner appetizer classic—the hot wings. Now, I must admit my expectations were somewhat high because I thought I was playing to your strength, but I could not have been more wrong. For the wing novices out there I should point out that what distinguishes a hot wing from a buffalo wing is spiciness. These wings were not spicy. No spice at all. None. At all. And to add insult to this egregious injury, the outer layer of the wing was, in addition to being bland, of the most unpleasant semi-crunchy texture. These hot wings, if the must be called that, sat atop under-cooked fries, which had an odd watered-down beer taste.
A culinary sin of this magnitude cannot be overlooked. As I leave Santa Cruz for my new job in Las Vegas, I leave disappointed in you. I’m sorry, Santa Cruz Diner. And I say this with a heavy heart, but when I am asked where to eat in Santa Cruz, no longer can I feel confident in recommending you for a late-night bite. I just thought you’d want to hear it from me instead of some UC Santa Cruz freshman.