Area greasy spoons offer more than just cheap food

"This better be salt," a customer at Fleetwood Diner on East Liberty Street chuckled, proceeding then to pour the white substance all over his fries.

In an era of monolithic fast food chains that are peopled with throngs of anonymous customers who eat and run, places like Fleetwood, marked by weathered menus, easy ambiances and kitchens behind counters, exist as conspicuous and cherished contrasts.

Open 24-hours every day, Fleetwood heats up late at night, when groups of regular customers come to eat for next-to-nothing, talk to other customers (many of whom they know only by face) and to smoke. In no hurry at all, customers feel comfortable sitting back against walls and surveying the small restaurant as they nurse cups of coffee and talk.

dana linnane/Daily Pete, a cook at Frank's Restaurant on Maynard Street, gets another basket of french fries ready for the frier. Pete, a restaurant employee for about 30 years, says life at Frank's hasn't changed much at the restaurant once known as "The Right Spot."

The sizzling of fried foods being cooked and the sounds of campus station WCBN pop in the background and the floor is checkered with well-worn black and white tiles. When outside on the street a cab honks its horn, once, then twice, a man sitting at the counter lumbers out to see who wants him, saying, "I hear you."

Once known as the Dagwood, now as Fleetwood - "I don't know why it's called Fleetwood - nobody knows," said the waitress Angela, who didn't want her real named published - the diner has been around in some form since World War II, and a public fascination surrounding the joint has developed along with it. "Every beginning photo student has to come here and take pictures," said Angela. Though she claimed not to understand the interest in Fleetwood, she later conceded that there was something alluring about the atmosphere.

Self-described as "jaded," Angela, tattooed and heavily ear-ringed, looked around the room and said, "Yeah, most of the people here I know - about 99 percent of the people." Moments later, Angela was sitting at a table and discussing a book she was reading with one of the regulars.

The food itself is unabashedly greasy, but full of taste. One student from Singapore reports that during the summer when he's home, the only Ann Arbor delicacy he misses are the cheese-fries at Fleetwood.

Engineering senior Tony Wisnieski readily agreed. "The fries are the best in Ann Arbor. And (they have) adequate coffee for a good caffeine fix."

On Maynard Street is another longtime dining fixture, Frank's. Originally known as the Right Spot, Frank's has been offering the same food and atmosphere for very little money for three decades. Indeed, the old broken cigarette dispenser seems ancient, and the plastic Coca-Cola and Kellog's signs don't appear to have been moved since the '70s.

Moreover, the menu and recipes have remained the same. Pete the cook (who didn't want his last name used) has been associated with Frank's for 30 years, and he explained the culinary philosophy of the restaurant: "An egg is an egg, a burger is a burger. Sometimes you look at some menus, and you don't know what you're getting." Pete then motioned towards the area behind the counter. "This is the same kitchen that's always been here."

Each day, Mabel Lintang, who has owned Frank's for 11 years, can be found waitressing and talking to customers. She said the people who get accustomed to Frank's often find that they can't be away for too long. "People go away from Ann Arbor, they come back and the say, 'I couldn't drink the coffee anywhere else.'" Then, pointing to the same earth-toned countertop that has been in Frank's since she can remember, she elaborated. "Wherever (else) they go, the counter is different. It's not the same counter as this one. It's a different chair (elsewhere). This place stays the same."

Pete added, "Frank's is a traditional place ... Nothing has changed. Still just a diner. And people know each other, the students, the faculty. The French toast, it's been known to everybody. The world's best French toast. It's not a restaurant but an institution. (It's) always here, you can always depend on that ... Some (people) come from places where they are used to diners. This reminds them of that," he said.

Customers walked in and out, greeting each other. Stephen Rassi has been coming to Frank's since 1993 on a weekly basis. He recalled the first time he came into Frank's one afternoon for lunch. "It was really busy. There was no place to sit down. One of my first impressions was of Mabel, who was talking to all the customers. There was no distance (between Mabel and the customers and) much personal attention." Sitting in the brown booth that has been in the restaurant for decades, Rassi added, "Everything in your life could be changing. You could be moving, changing jobs, but Frank's would stay the same. Some things do stay the same. It feels like home. They treat people wonderfully here, like family. It's homey, simple," he said.

The idea that Frank's seems more like a family than a business is a sentiment that others agreed with. Pete has watched people more or less grow up over the years, witnessing lines of fathers leading to sons, and students becoming graduate students, and finally professionals. "It is like a home," he said.

Reminiscing about various people who had eaten at Frank's - provosts, mayors, professors - Pete insisted that he dislikes to single people out, or to identify specific patrons rather than others because all, in his opinion, are equal. "We serve you like we serve ourselves," he explained.

Along South University Avenue is another friendly, intimate restaurant, Steve's Lunch. On first glance, visual clues seem to indicate that Steve's is a clean, unaffected restaurant with a low-key atmosphere. One long counter runs the length of the restaurant, a grill sizzles, people hunch over plates, and there are advertisements for soft drinks.

But, scrolling the menu, one notices that there is a basic, important dichotomy of food genres offered: simple American dishes (hamburgers, breakfast, omelets, sandwiches, etc.), and, at least for the past 20 years, Korean food. Thus, when the waitress brings a dish of Jop-che, the division implied by the question "fork or chopsticks?" seems fitting.

Along a wall, framed awards from the past proclaim Steve's the best Korean food in Ann Arbor. The food available, in combination with the bubbly, amiable ambiance, appeals to people. Music sophomore Samantha Raddock has been coming to Steve's regularly for the past few months. Smiling, she said, "The food is very good, healthy, and the service is excellent."

Waitress Stephanie Romano was less modest. "(Steve's) is the coolest place by far. We're all down, everyone talks to everyone, we're all friends. New people come in and you meet them too ... I know about half the people in here."

There is an easy-going feel running through Steve's. Two regulars, one a University professor, huddled at the end of the counter. A few feet away, Romano talked with Raddock before suddenly tackling owner Joe Lee as he walked by.

Clearly, what people like about these restaurants, what keeps their interest, is something that is emotional in nature. Customers are often most attracted to the restaurants not by the food but by the comfort and relaxation they find there, which can seem reminiscent of home. Remarked Pete about Frank's, "I have a lot of memories from here, there were a lot of moments."

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