Entrance area of the Plato’s Diner in College Park
Plato’s Diner has changed over the years. There’s no denying it. The old, cheesy faux-Greek paintings have given way to bright primary colors on the walls. The ratty green booths have given way to personality-lacking brown (and I should know, one of those green ones is rotting away on my deck). The service has transformed from comically bad to pretty forgettable.
But all these new bits of lacquer can’t cover up the seedy, grotesque beauty that is the unique offering of Plato’s, a genuine greasy spoon-style diner in the heart of an increasingly soulless, franchise-driven College Park.
Plato’s might be technically cleaner now, sure, but it’s still Plato’s. The menu is charmingly riddled with typos and non sequiturs. The Hellenic Delight is juicy and borderline dangerous. The hobo fries sit like lead in your stomach for hours. The coffee is coffee. The milkshakes are icy, and the desserts are preserved, mausoleum-style, in brightly-lit glass display cases (where they’ve probably been since the first Bush administration).
I’ve sobered up too many times to count in Plato’s. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve walked past Plato’s and thought to myself, “Man, Plato’s is open?” I’ve taken my mom to Plato’s (she liked it). I’ve taken a date to Plato’s (she hated it).
Here’s the point: In a world of blackouts and midterms and fights and car trouble and art houses, Plato’s is a welcome constant, a stalwart lighthouse guiding youths as they crash and bob their way through the choppy seas of a College Park night.
Don’t worry, everybody. Plato’s is there. Plato’s is open. Plato’s will always be there. Plato’s will always be open.
