Oh diner coffee. Your mug so thick, off-white and heavy in my hand. Your taste so reviving. Your smell all-encompassing.
When I was little, and living in Tucson, AZ, my mom used to take me to Village Inn. (Which, at the time, did not feel like an over-commercialized schlepy Denny’s.) She would get a cup of coffee. I would get a hot chocolate (lots of whipped cream, please!). And we would split of a piece of pie.
This is when my love affair with those big, thick ceramic mugs started.
Sometime in grad school I got hooked on black coffee. That’s when I fell in love with diners. The coffee at diners is always better. Better than Starbucks. Better than Filter Coffeehouse. Why? Because something about diner coffee warms my soul. It’s where I go on cold, winter nights after hours of cramming for exams. It’s where you go with your mom to talk about life. It’s where you go for brunch with girlfriends.
Over diner coffee, I have made the best memories, had the best laughs and cried my best tears.
Cheers, diner coffee.
frijolita 
Coffee just tastes better in those mugs…Great ode!
diners might be my favorite part of life in the northeast corridor. though i do miss waffle house, not gonna lie…