The Choo Choo Diner

During a specific visit in 1968, I had lunch at this establishment with my mother while I was still a young child. It was a highly regarded destination and considered a must-visit place, comparable to Dog & Suds. A rare treat. I was eagerly anticipating the arrival of my burger, filled with excitement.

However, to my utter surprise and disappointment, the server simply placed the plate in front of me, completely ignoring my expectation of having it delivered to me via a model train. I mean, that was the whole reason for sitting at the counter, right? Clearly, I wasn’t there for the food! I felt their motto of, “Hamburgers on Wheels” carried the force of a written contract. I couldn’t comprehend why I had to explain such a fundamental concept to the staff.

Eventually, it seemed that the server understood my request and took the burger back, returning it to me as it should have been initially—transported by the model train. Yet, despite this attempt to rectify the situation, the experience was irreparably tainted. Not even a ride on a mechanical palomino could salvage the visit. The disappointment had overshadowed the mood so much that the thought of asking for a coin to mount the trusty steed didn’t even cross my mind.

Time passed and I grew older, and or at least no longer a young child on the outside. The passing of countless sushi boats at Kampai, for which The Choo Choo Diner was clearly a gateway drug, brought some comfort and familiarity. I learned to accept the incident as a peculiar misunderstanding, but deep down, I know I’ll never truly get over it.

With a span of only 55 years since that memorable visit, I may still have some limited time to come to terms with it. However, if I fail to do so, I envision a scenario akin to Citizen Kane’s enigmatic “rosebud” moment, leaving those present during my final moments perplexed by my cryptic last utterance of, “train burger”.

P.S. My brother referred to Dog & Suds as “Arf & Barf”. Nevertheless, as an eight-year-old, the pleasure of having a tray of food hooked onto the window of your car by a cranky carhop and relishing hot dogs, onion rings, and root beer inside a Plymouth with the radio on is an experience that will remain difficult to surpass.