Tom's Diner

I moved to Colorado in August of 1997 with the plan of joining the hippie masses playing guitar and smoking weed in Boulder. Well, that and going to school of course. It wasn't long before my musical aspirations completely changed course however, when someone introduced me to techno and ecstasy. And techno and ecstasy, in the late 90's, meant going to Denver. And so I have this memory, faded and drug-laden at best, of leaving some club at 2 in the morning in dire need of salty sustenance, and finding Tom's Diner. Yes I'm 95% sure I can make this claim: Tom's was the first restaurant I ever went to in Denver.

And now some 13 years later it's like I'm stepping back in time, not because I'm suffering from drug-induced munchies, but because Tom's really is a throwback to the past. It's hard to pin down the exact decade, there are style elements from the 50's, 60's and 70's all intermingled, but one thing it's gratefully lacking is the often-too-loud 50's pop soundtrack and the ever-perky waitress. The music, the first song I hear actually, is "Tom's Diner" by Suzanne Vega. Now that's interesting. For a second I wonder if it's someone's idea of a joke or it's the only song they play but then I hear the likes of The Pharcyde, Peter Gabriel, Sublime, and some reggae song, it's like a satellite radio station made just for diners. Diners on Colfax. The booths are all baby poop yellow and the tables are yellow mustard yellow, a combination that sounds a lot worse than it looks. The floor is brown and cream speckled tiles of various shapes and sizes and reminds me of the visitor center at Rocky Mountain National Park. Looking around, in fact, other aspects have a distinctly 1970's Colorado kind of feel to them: the exposed rock wall, the dark wood lattice work, lots of potted plants, and let's not forget the building itself. It's a UFO for godssakes! Tom's is some sort of irregular polygon with an absurdly pointy roof that definitely looks like it could be hovering above some dusty prairie town, disturbing the cows and the town preacher. With just a little hint of neon, a couple long strips precisely placed, you wouldn't want to fuck with this building at 3am on a Sunday morning when you're stumbling bleary-eyed down the street, it might just beam you up. But wait, don't be afraid, Tom's is open 24 hours! It will be there to welcome you with gigantic boxes of General Mills cereal (1 free refill, $3.99) and milk shakes made with the Cadillac of milk shake makers: a mint green and chrome beast of an appliance that can mix up 4 of those babies at a time. 

 Each booth is bedecked with a small bowl filled with creamers, and I say bedecked because of the perfect symmetry of it, a little geodesic dome of white and pink, 15 expertly placed creamers, like a bouquet of dairy that I dare not disarrange, thank god I got iced tea. I wonder if the 15th creamer, the one in the middle that seemingly supports the rest, ever gets changed out.


Okay it's time to pay attention to the menu. It's gotten bigger since last I was here. And the one thing I was looking for. . .something deep in my gray matter that I always found rather cutesy. . .nope, Grilled Cheese SWAK is not on the menu anymore. SWAK? Sealed with a kiss. How could they? I was seriously thinking of ordering it just so I could say it. Sure they still have grilled cheese, but it's no longer SWAK and therefore no longer worth ordering. They haven't lost all their humor since the menu update though, as I found this on the back page:

More cheekiness on menus! I say. The menu practically needs an index, with certain items appearing in more than one place. A list of the headers: Breakfast, South of the Border, Sides, Sandwiches, Baskets, Blue Plate Specials, Paninis, Burgers, Belly Bombers, Salads, Delicious Dinners, Sides (again), Drinks, and finally, Desserts. Is that all really necessary? No, it's just a way to show off their fancy use of the 50's style "rocket font" that's all over it. I don't need to see Santa Fe Chicken in 3 different places, I just want the SWAK back! After a good 10 minute perusal and forcing the waitress to come back twice, I settle on a BLT with fried egg and fries. She tries to take my menu but I'm not done with it, need it to cover my furious hand scribbling. I swear she raises an eyebrow. I like her, she's got just the right amount of crust for a Colfax diner waitress. She says things like "What do ya want to drink?" without the usual decorum of waitstaff. Ah, the freedom to speak without mincing words at your job. I'll take honesty over insincerity any day.

My food comes out pretty quickly, it's a slow, hot, weekday afternoon, and I've just guzzled 40 ounces of iced tea. I realize what a beautiful sandwich a BLT doth make. Bright colors in individual layers and textures, each ingredient good enough to stand up on it's own (okay, lettuce) but together creating a perfect edible harmony, a sandwich good enough for all walks of life. The last BLT I had was all deluxe moderne with ingredients like pesto aioli and pork belly and arugula. And you know what? That's just not necessary. A regular old BLT, especially the one I had at Tom's, is just as good as the fancy one and the simplicity of it made me think about and savor the ingredients more. Okay so I had a fried egg on it, I did fancify my BLT, but in a diner kind of way, not a bistro kind of way. The white bread was just toasted enough on the outside to withstand the possible saturation from the mayo and whatever water was left on the green leaf lettuce. The tomato was thick and bright and juicy (finally a good tomato), and the bacon was thicker than I expected, not overly crispy, the salt and fat swirling with my saliva and no doubt effecting the neurons in my brain, making me crave it even more with each bite. The fried egg was over-hard, the way I like it, especially on a sandwich, and gave it an added nudge in the breakfast direction while intensifying the salt-fat-protein experience that was happening in my mouth. Oh yes.


The waitress comes back with the check but I decide to go for the gold and get a shake. Chocolate. Now a definite eyebrow raise, who is this young chick comin' in here all by herself and stuffin' herself like it's her last meal? Yup, that would be me. I just have to see that beast in action, hoping it makes a lot of noise and perhaps emits little puffs of exhaust. But alas, it seems it's just for show, my milkshake gets made in one of those single serving kinds, silently plugged into the wall. Topped with Redi-whip in a tall, shapely, frosty Coca-Cola mug, it's pretty much just liquidy chocolate ice-cream, a little chunkier than I was expecting, they just don't make machines like they used to. Somehow I get it into my gullet, about 3 quarters of it anyway, and fall back in my booth, satiated, with hand cramp.


Tom's Diner feels like the end of something neighborly. I have just eaten at 15 restaurants in 3 and a half blocks of Colfax. I don't even know what the next eatery is! All I know is, I can't see it from Tom's. The foot traffic lessens, the parking lots get bigger and hotter, vacant buildings abound. There's a bunch of chains coming up, restaurant and otherwise, so I guess I'll be moving eastward in a more rapid manner. A section of Eat Colfax has been completed, and I've definitely broken down some of my walls.