Richie's "Diner"- The word doesn't mean what you think it means.

This place is too shiny, and not East Coast Diner shiny, like dads with sandals and socks and daughters with low-rise jeans shiny. It's suburb shiny. Calling it Richie's Diner makes my teeth ache. There are hints there that it used to be something special, that somewhere there might be an original Richie's that doesn't grate on my sensibilities. [And apparently there is- http://www.richiesdiner.com/ two locations in northern California where the pictures seem a bit more faux-authentic. Oddly the website does not list the location I went to in Rancho Cucamonga.]


It was a busy weekend night when we strode in, might have even been the opening weekend for Richie's here. There was that kind of ridiculous energy in the air; the kind you might find at a Wal-Mart opening or a Gottschalk's sale. We put our names on the list and waited.

And we waited in the cramped lobby where they teased us with an apple cider dispenser and tiny Dixie cups, only to find no unused cups and an empty jug of cider.

Richie's also sells salt water taffy by the sack. Sure, why not. Do what you gotta Richie's.

It became quite clear after half an hour or so that we had been skipped on the list. We approached the frazzled man at the counter. When he realized that he had skipped us, he tried to say he had called our names, but the looks on our faces and his realization that we had never been more than ten feet from the counter made him quickly abandon that tactic.

Normally, with even that much time invested, I would have hit the bricks, but Ritchie's promised me something. On their crowded front counter were an assortment of unique sodas, including my old favorite, Green River Soda. Part of my childhood all the way up to high school, the Green River Soda was MY drink. I haven't had a Green River, especially from the bottle, in a long time. Too long, old friend. I had to stay.



Finally, we were taken to a table through the generic, could be a Chilis, could be a Macaroni Grill, could be the third circle of hell, dining room.



Looking over the menu, we found the traditional American favorites with only the occasional TGIFriday's influence.

One of us ordered the open faced meatloaf sandwich, substituting french fries for mashed potatoes. The other ordered the pot roast sandwich. We had been waiting so long and were so hungry, I actually forgot to take a picture until we were nearly done. Neither of these meals were impressive, or reall all that good. Plain and generic tasting. And please note; they messed up and gave us both french fries.



But oh sweet Venus, my green bottle love came to me and I did drink her up. Sugary syrup with tiny champagne bubbles. Sigh, what dreams may come.



We waited a very long time for our check, so long we decided to ask for it. What a foolhardy move that proved to be. Our waiter had forgotten to print it out. We could have walked out and there would have been no evidence except for our left over food stuffs...Yes, I did take the Green River bottle with me.

I cannot recommend Richie's Diner because I won't recommend any chain restaurant to anyone for a meal. You can call it a "diner" all you want Richie, but that don't make it right. And do not get me started on what the hell "Real American" means.

Food: Meh!
Service: Feh!
Price: Gah!
Pie: Nah!... okay they had some overpriced desserts with pie-like stuff.

Victoria Gardens
8039 Monet Ave
Rancho Cucamonga, CA 91739

On the Road: Spokane's Diners Pt. 5- Hogan's. Nostalgia and broken glasses.

One of the first questions I asked when I found out we'd be going to my old neighborhood in Spokane was if Hogan's was still open. Hogan's was the closest thing to a Peach Pit or The Max my high school friends and I had. Well, that's not true; we hung out more at Senor Froggy's and Baskin Robbins, but that was because half of us worked at one of those places. Hogan's was special, though. It was our kitsch.

Various groupings of us would head there after school on Friday and get Green River sodas and an order of french fries with a side of hollandaise sauce. And without fail, every time we were there, we'd hear the shattering of a glass. Someone in the back had butter fingers. Jon said that even the last time he was there a few months prior, a glass had broken. Could the streak still be alive?


Bill, Jon and I went to the grand old spot in the South Hill Shopping Center, and for me the only things there that hadn't changed were Hogan's and 2nd Look Books, where Bill worked in high school. Everything had remodeled or moved out or closed down.


We sat down and I immediately asked our young, yet familiar looking* waitress if they still served Green River soda. She had no idea what I was talking about. I then spontaneously grew a three foot long beard that tapered off to a point at the end. One of the bus boys happened by at that moment and I asked him if he remembered Green River. He said that he did and that Hogan's had stopped serving it years ago. My beard then shrunk down to a tasteful Sam Elliot style mustache.

When our waitress came by again, I tried to sound as creepy as possible. "This is weird but you look really familiar. Did you have an older sister who went to Ferris [High School]?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, what was her name?"
"Shelby blah blah."
Jon, Bill and I looked at each other. No bell's rung.
"Yeah. That's not familiar at all. Sorry for sounding creepy."
"Oh no problem!"

Jon ordered the biscuits and gravy. This kid must be going through his own B&G phase. The plate was smothered with greasy goodness.



I ordered the meat loaf sandwich because I was hankering for some brown gravy. The gravy was thick but edged on too salty, but the meat loaf was perfectly moist. I asked for french fries instead of mashed potatoes, as mashed potatoes are a side dish I'm never in the mood for.



Yes, the keen the observer will note, those are mashed potatoes on my plate and not french fries. When our waitress realized the mistake, she brought out a jumbo basket of fries. We also inquired if we could get Hollandaise sauce for our fries. It was missing from the menu, but the waitress had no problem bringing us out a little dish. You can tell from the picture that it wasn't of the highest quality, but it was still good enough to assuage our sense of nostalgia.



The real star of the meal was Bill's order of the "Big Bopper." It's a load of food. Three pieces of toast (Why three? Simple math. Three is better than two), hash browns (unfortunately not the Spokane-style I was hoping for), two eggs and some bacon. Toss a couple of pancakes on there and you get...well...a LOAD of food.



It was fun being in this old haunt again. Oddly, a lot of the places that held significance for me in Spokane aren't around anymore. The Denny's on Sprague is now some Mongolian Grill. The place where we had dinner before prom has burned down. It was good to see old Horace Hogan depicted on the interior wall, greeting me with a burger.



There was only one disappointment during this little trip down memory lane: Nobody dropped a glass.

Food: Good
Price: 6-9
Service: Friendly.
Pie: Yes.


2977 E 29TH Ave,
Spokane, WA 99223-4811
Tel: (509) 535-7567


This bring us to the end of the Spokane portion of the "On the Road" journey. I'm making a quick sojourn back to Los Angeles to review a place and then I'll continue with my Northwest reviews. Look for Wenatchee Washington's Prospector Pies soon.