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By Dana Bowen, SAVEUR Deputy Editor
A few years ago I sat at the counter of the Market diner—a Jetsons-era beauty, which looks as if it had landed on Manhattan's Far West Side from outer space—and commiserated with the dispirited staff and customers. The Market had lost its lease. The regulars were plotting and, by the end of the day, rallying. It felt like a war protest: there was anger against the property owner (an unknown entity who had condo development in mind) and compassion for the owners, Mr. and Mrs. Kasimis, who had run the place for 13 years. The booths were crowded with cabdrivers and theater people, and elderly couples told stories of how their lives had unfolded against the backdrop of this place. There had been four-in-the-morning cups of coffee, four-in-the-afternoon turkey dinner early-bird specials. A set designer fondly recalled the opening party for Terrence McNally's play Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune, which had filled the place with celebrities.
After I read our food editor Todd Coleman's profile, in the April issue of Saveur, of the Agawam, a beloved diner in Rowley, Massachusetts, I began to wonder about the Market diner and diners in general. What is it about these places that makes them so dear to our hearts? Could it be the community they seem to cultivate and nurture? Or could it be the food—unfussy, affordable, and frequently delicious?
Sadly, though, diners—which evolved from horse-drawn lunch wagons in the late 19th century—are disappearing, particularly in urban areas, where rents are prohibitively high. In New York City alone, in the past few years, we've lost many: the classic Munson diner was hauled away last year; the River diner was converted into a check-cashing place overnight; the lime green Kullman, on the West Side Highway, is now shuttered. And the Market diner, whose regulars' outpouring of love was enough to persuade the owner to renew its lease for a few months, now sits empty behind a chain-link fence—a shadow of its former shiny self.
The Moondance—one of the city's oldest diners, formerly called the Tunnel diner because it used to be at the mouth of the Holland Tunnel—is the latest diner to fight the urban real estate battle. It's up for sale, for an undisclosed price, on the American Diner Museum's website. There, you can find dozens of diners around the country that are looking for a new sliver of land to sit on and some regulars to call them home.
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