Fifties flashback
Impressive service and a spot-on atmosphere were sometimes let down by the kitchen, but Alastair Paulin’s visit to Diner 66 still rocked.
Happy Days are here again. With Archie comics reboot Riverdale ruling Netflix and a longing for the pre-identity politics of 60 years ago in the White House, retromania is back on the menu.
Nowhere has that been more obvious than at Christchurch’s Diner 66, which has been rocking around the clock since it opened a month ago. I last stepped into the triangular building at the corner of Victoria and Montreals sreets when it was Castrols Garage and the transformation is impressive.
This is themed dining done with panache, down to touches like chrome panels framing the front door, the swivel 50s seats at the counter and the uniforms.
Our waitress, Hanna, was rocking a 50s bow both in her hair and her service. Clear communication, no question unanswerable, no problem unsolvable, and done with the sassy style of an American diner waitress. The place is so popular that as of the time of writing, if a group of five wanted to dine any time between 5 and 8pm, they would have to wait at least eight days.
If you mostly want to sit at the counter, nurse an all-American classic like a Snickers milkshake or a root beer float and enjoy the atmosphere, then you’re in for a good time. But some of the main menu items were a bit of a let-down.
The $21 burgers are afflicted by the all-tooprevalent giant bun disease, a Philly Cheese steak sandwich was almost cold when served and was missing the key ingredient of onions, which were mentioned on the menu, and the bland, stodgy, deep-fried mac and cheese balls sat in a pool of oil.
To be fair, Hanna whisked the Philly cheese steak away to be remade hot. Baskets of loaded fries sounded good but the kitchen was out of curly fries and the straight cut fries were dry and underseasoned.
They were out of the Californian Ballast Point, the only craft beer on the menu, so I substituted a Mexican Negra Modelo with my New Mexico burger.
Some diner staples were excellent: the corn meal-crusted onion rings were perfectly fried and the thin batter let the onion’s natural sweetness come through, and the well-spiced fried chicken was juicy and tender with a zing from the buttermilk batter. That puts Diner 66 in the odd position of being a destination restaurant without a destination calling card on the menu. I’m keen to return for an all-day breakfast with a bottomless cup of coffee, which for me is the reason for being for an American diner.
And I’m confident that when the pace slows down, the same owners who have delivered an impeccable setting with excellent service will be able to sharpen up the performance in the kitchen.