Philadelphia has its share of gourmet restaurants, and HL and I were pleased to sample the cuisine in several of them while visiting with friends and family.  My subject here, however, is a far humbler establishment, the Silk City Diner, in the Northern Liberties district.  Its exterior was very similar to that of the diners of my youth.  That, and the recurring need for coffee occasioned by the chilly, intermittent drizzle, lured us through its door.

             The entrance led to two sections, an arrangement not readily apparent from the street.  At pavement level was an area of tables,  decorated with greenhouse foliage.  Several steps led up to the traditional diner, with a counter and stools running along one wall, and booths against the windows. 

          Its profusion of greenery was only one of the differences between  the Silk City Diner and its railroad dining car-style predecessors.  Another was the array of liquor bottles behind the counter.  It was evident that the place was more of a bar than an eatery.  Once we took our seats at the counter, we noticed a quirky collection of objects ranged along a high shelf.  The items could have been gleaned from various souvenir shops' discount tables, or been the day's end bargains from unsuccessful yard sales. It was a tribute to bad taste that amused us as we waited for our food. 

I could tell that the server thought that my request to take her picture was odd, though she did consent after a slight hesitation.

          I neglected to photograph our meals, selected from a Retro menu of diner standards.  We had cups of tomato soup with our grilled cheese sandwiches, an homage to diner lunches in decades past.  The fare was ordinary, both in taste and appearance, but that seemed appropriate.  The coffee was strong, and that, too, added verisimilitude to the experience.  We enjoyed the ambience as well as one another's company.  Perhaps, with age, we were getting easier to entertain.