While often exactly what you need, diners are generally all the same: crappy coffee, burnt-out waitresses, and Sam Jackson talking about Happy Days and owning sweet wallets while in his underwear. Holding to few of those tropes, and boldly requiring Sam Jackson to wear pants, is The 401 Diner.
The dudes from Isabella have revamped The 401 Diner, keeping the name and…well, that's about it: the diner-standard menu's been replaced with locavore fuel, while the interior’s been jazzed up with hardwood floors, hand-tiled tables, and church pew booths with owner-made stained glass dividers and elephant- and moose-head coat hangers -- a far better decorative choice than the ill-fated moose-knuckle pants hangers. Your spoon'll still be plenty greasy, but the go-tos have been elevated, including matzoh ball soup done in organic chicken broth; sea-salted, hand-cut truffle frites employing locally grown taters; and wild shrimp rolled in horseradish sauce & country Dijon called Shrimp Lejon, and now you know how to say "small toilet" in French. Bigger stuff brings a Reuben sporting housemade sauerkraut and tomato-dill aioli, plates of roasted turkey (a leg and breast from Bolton Farm with spiced cranberry chutney and herbed brioche stuffing), and a caught-around-here blue fish with Kennett Square 'shrooms and cracked-pepper cream, all over a bed of rice, which once left Sarah Palin heartbroken, when she woke up to find Basmati instead of Glen.
Since this is a diner, and diners have pies, dammit, you can expect an ever-changing lineup behind the counter, plus nonstop breakfast including creme brulee-dipped challah French toast and pancakes with honey crumble, not to be confused with Honey Bunny crumble, which she quickly does upon realizing Sam Jackson lives up to his wallet’s namesake.