It didn’t take me long after moving to Boston to find a diner that was open for late nights, even if the public transit here closes too early to have enjoyed the frenzied late nights I have come to know and love at other such establishments. The South Street Diner fit the bill.

Here in New England, the word “diner” has a different meaning. In the northwest it tends to mean the same thing as cafe or restaurant, with connotations of truck stop. In New England they come with history. They’re made to resemble trains. But the culture, the feeling, what has always drawn me in, remain the same.

So it felt familiar to me even while it felt like rediscovering the greasy spoon scene. The food was beautifully greasy–French fries covered in gravy, juicy burgers, food which does not apologize for its effect on your health. The lighting, after dark, has that purple glow that comes of red and blue neon signs providing much of the illumination, with enough overhead lighting to prevent it from being a headache.

I’m not a regular yet, but a few of the servers have a way of making me look forward to becoming one, and that’s the sort of thing I look forward to when all I want is all the coffee in the world.