The Nugget Diner - Reno, Nev.
My favorite time in Reno is early on a Sunday morning. When you can walk down Virginia Street and you can't really tell who has been up an hour and who has been out all night, not that anyone cares anyway. Regardless of what anyone says, Reno is a better town than Las Vegas, at least better than the Las Vegas that has reinvented itself. Those that would disagree I am pretty sure are the same people that are willing to wait in line for two hours to dine at Chili's, or the Outback Steak House. In Vegas the homeless, penniless, or generally uncouth are rounded up and sent to types of refugee camps. It's hard to understand why a segment of the Vegas population is still upset about a proposed one-cent increase in property taxes for homeless programs. I guess all the visitors to Vegas deserve to not have their eyes soured by any unsavory segment of the population while they spend their "hard earned money" in luxury. Reno is not that way. Walk downtown and you will soon realize that everyone is welcome and thank god for that! No "reinventing" necessary in the "biggest little city in the world." Many of the lights on Virginia street are originals, no pyramid, Eiffel Tower, Grand Canal or exploding fountains with opera music. If Vegas is all superficial and artificial, Reno is real to the core. What you see is what you get, if you can't handle it, go elsewhere. This isn't as much a political commentary as it is about food, but since I am on the subject, I will let you in on a little secret that only the Reno locals know about. Warning, once you know about my little secret, your eyes will be forever opened. Keep in mind, if you journey to my little slice of heaven off Virginia Street, your views on food, company, and conversation may never be the same. I have been making pilgrimages to the little diner in the back of the Nugget casino (233 N. Virginia) for a number of years since my parents came to call Reno home. Whenever I need an attitude adjustment or my values and priorities get screwed up like they sometimes do, or I simply need the best comfort food anywhere on earth, I know where to go. I am sure the grill is the same as well as the original counter stools. Some of the cooks might even be originals. The signs on the wall certainly haven't changed and neither have the prices or the quality or quantity of anything you order. The diner is famous for the legendary "Awful, Awful burger." It is without a doubt the best burger anywhere in the world. Served in a basket on top of 1 lb. of fries. They have been making this burger for 35 years. For $3.50 you better be prepared because only a few have finished the burger and the fries. What makes the Nugget Diner so special is not just the food, but the company, conversation and stories from the other pilgrims sitting next to you at the counter. The last time I was there was no exception. I went for the "Breakfast Special," (two huge fluffy buttermilk pancakes topped with an egg cooked the way you like it for 99 cents) early on a Sunday morning. I was armed with the Sunday Reno Gazette and a light heart. Francisco greeted me with a smile just as big as the one he had the day before when I had myself an "Awesome Dog" ( A true foot long hotdog shipped from the Sausage Company in Hackensack New Jersey. Made by Otto Sanmeier, master sausage maker). The half-pound hot dog is sliced down the middle and grilled to perfection. The basic dog is $1.99. I opted for the dog topped with Kraut for $2.35. Add chili for $3.15. Not many establishments can boast they have the best burger and the best hot dog anywhere. I sipped my coffee and eyed the front page of my paper. The article informed me that the corporate reform bill President Bush was preparing to sign would in effect make his own actions as a business man a criminal offense. Thank god my breakfast saved me from having to read on. The stool to my left was soon occupied by a fellow patron who stumbled in the back door and created a stir when he began frantically searching for the cigarette he had originally been storing behind his ear. He never did find it. His ragged suitcase soon occupied the space below his stool. He said hello and began his tale, similar to many I had heard before on different stools at the same counter. Randy was from Chico, CA; he had hitchhiked for eight days to get to Reno, a true pilgrim. When he arrived, he had $800 in his pocket and "the machines looked good." Now he had $1.06, just enough for a breakfast special and some company. He told Francisco he did not have enough for coffee. "Just the special." he said. I scooped up his money, handed it back, and bought his breakfast. I though about buying him the "Hangover Omelet" (A four egg omelet filled with Chili Grande, smothered in cheddar cheese and salsa for $5.95) but Randy didn't need the complimentary "Nugget Bucket Bloody Mary" that comes with it. Randy said what he really wanted was the "Awful, Awful burger." I told him he would have to settle for the breakfast special. Randy asked what my name was. When I told him I was called "The Snapper," he said "god bless you Snapper!" He turned his eyes toward the ceiling. I sipped my coffee. He told me I was a good man but not quite as nice as the black lady who took him to Mervyns the day before and bought him $60 worth of clothes. He told me he had to hitchhike back to Chico that night. "I am a good-looking guy" he said, "the man is looking after me, I'll make it." Two middle-aged men took the two stools to the left of Randy, they looked annoyed. Randy turned to the man next to him and said "you are impatient, are you waiting for an "Awful, Awful burger?" The man ignored Randy. I wondered what was troubling those two. By the looks of them, it could be any number of things, their round on the golf course, the money they lost at the casino, who drives the nicer S.U.V., or the hit their portfolios had recently taken and what it meant for their retirement. I wanted to tell them to leave it at the door but Randy spoke first. He asked why people ignored him and looked away when he spoke to them. He said "I am a good person, I like to talk to people." He said, "thanks for listening to me." The college students on my right ate burgers and drank Budweiser's. The two men to the left of Randy made eye contact with me, they looked away from Randy. Randy told me he slept under a bridge last night. I told him I knew the bridge he was referring to. He said the breakfast I just purchased for him was the first food he had eaten in two days. I had two crisp $100 bills in my pocket, money in the bank and thousands in credit. I thought about giving Randy my newspaper but when I looked inside the first article I saw was about how the wealthiest people in America were buying the priciest life insurance they could find in order to avoid taxes. I chose to spare Randy the details; he had more pressing concerns. He thanked me and I shook his hand and wished him luck. I said the next time I see him he can buy me breakfast at the Nugget. As I left the diner I poked my head between the two middle aged men at the end of the counter. They still seemed concerned about something. I knew it was not when they would eat again or where they would sleep that night. I said, "this is what makes this place special." One of the men said, "you mean helping people?" Before I could answer him, Randy asked the man if he was going to finish his pancakes. The man said no and slid the plate over to Randy. Once again I left the Nugget with a full stomach, another story, and my priorities in order. Other recommended
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