Warren W.
Yelp
Ugh. No.
There is nothing wrong with diners or "diner food;" there is a lot wrong with Bob's Diner.
Anyone who regularly reads my reviews knows that I spend a lot of time in the Roxborough/Manayunk/Wissahickon area because my grand parents live here. While I find that this section of Philadelphia has its own charm, a culinary destination it is NOT. If one heads down towards the Wissahickon Transit Center, one encounters the closed half the year grease pit, Lisa's Kitchen and the half assed Italian restaurant, A Tutti. Going up the hill that is Ridge Avenue (which was formerly a Leni Lenape hunting trail), there is The Commissary Market, a mom and pop that puts out decent hoagies. Further up the hill is C&C Creamery, purveyor of ice cream confections. If one continues left on Ridge, that leads to a 'down town' that's populated with forgettable pizza joints, a Wawa, a few Dunkin' Donuts and run of the mill, tired, non-descript food purveyors of puffy foam-like bagels and ubiquitous chicken wings tucked into tiny, semi-corner mini strip malls. In light of what I just described, coming upon the aluminum shine of Bob's Diner could seem like culinary light at the end of a dim, grey, processed food tunnel.
It is not.
Every time I pass Bob's, I expect to see a For Sale sign slapped on it. It has an untended, down at the heels look that extends to the inside. No, not retro or vintage; more just plain down and out. When my grandfather was still mobile, I would take both grands here at their request but against my own preference. Even though they have lived most of their lives on 'The Ridge,' there was never any sign of recognition or even a lukewarm greeting from any of the staff/servers when we went in.
Bob's interior is small with just a few booths and counter seating. Perhaps it is simply years of every day wear and tear that make it look grim and unclean, but I never fail to want to don coveralls, rubber gloves and a hair net, soak the entire place down with Clorox bleach and Dawn liquid soap, scrub it like a maniac from ceiling to floor, then hose all the years old grime, grease and effluvia out into the cemetery this place overlooks.
The last and final time I was here, upon entering, a sticky table was pointed out to us as our dining spot, then we were handed equally sticky menus. No one poured coffee for my grands and when I asked for tea, the waitress looked at me with a slight sneer. And I never got that tea.
I ordered a cheese omelet which came, according to the menu, with home fries and toast. When it arrived, it was on a wet plate. Not like wet with a few drops of water, or wet underneath but wet as in there was a small puddle of warm water under the food. And everything was lukewarm. Toast was MIA. My grands saw the look on my face and offered me some of their breakfasts but I declined. Trying to make eye contact with any of the staff here to rectify my aquatic breakfast was not in the cards. In addition, no one refilled our water glasses or coffee cups. My tea order never happened. I did not eat my meal beyond the one forkful of tepid omelet and cooling home fries. If that was noticed by the waitress or the manager, no comment was made nor was there any inquiry as to how our food was or why I was not eating what I'd ordered.
Since I dearly love my grands and it is always a high point in my week or month to be with them, I did not mind sitting and talking with them as we waited and waited and WAITED for our check. Finally, when I was tired of seeing my untouched plate of now cold, gelid breakfast in front of me, I got up to pay the cashier who refused to take my cash without the check. I said our table was never given a check by the waitress. That waitress was nowhere to be seen now. As many times as the 3 of us had been here in the past, the cashier claimed he did not know what we'd eaten (our booth was right behind him) and he'd never seen us before, thus I could not cash out. My grand was starting to mumble to her husband and fret, rummaging through her purse for cash, probably thinking I was short on funds. I asked them to wait outside and made sure they were safely out the door before returning to Mr. Belligerent at the register. I handed him 2 twenty dollar bills and a tenner-way more than the cost of the wretched food plus way too large tip for nothing-wished him a fine day and walked out. He called me a punk and said he should call the police. I said that was a capital idea, since bad service and sub par food should be grounds for arrest.
I have not gone back since.
