J. Kevin Wolfe

Yeah, at the Apple Tree Café they have deli sandwiches: the BLT or double decker egg salad and ham, salads like Caesar or spinach, soups like ham and bean or chicken and dumplings that make you go running into the kitchen shouting “Grandma? Oh. What a nice beard you have.” But people are here for what comes off the griddle.

I wonder if Odysseus would have stayed strapped to that mast if his ship had passed the smells of the Al-Amir Café instead of a bunch of women singing on some rocks.

The first thing you notice about Loving Hut is how normal vegans have become. No nose rings. No forehead tattoos that say “Meat is murder.” The loyal clientele of the Loving Hut looks just like everybody’s neighbors.

Those of us in the world of divedom are always looking for the hidden gems that Mr. and Mrs. Joe Average would pass by with their noses turned up. And hiding here at the Gyro Plaza Café, inside an unremarkable exterior, is food worthy of a multi-star rating.

You really can judge an eatery by its posters. Elvis and Marilyn—typical. The place is trying a little too hard for a nostalgic look, a little too hard on clever menu names, and not hard enough on cooking good food.

It occurs to me that Chinese restaurants really are American restaurants. Back in the days when I thought spaghetti only came out of a can, the culinarily isolated Midwest had a number of Chinese places.

How’s about a nice corned beef on rye with bibimbap on the side? East really meets West at this combo sandwich shop and rice bowl stand. It seems like Sunny Deli is striving to be Kosher Korean and strangely, the combo works.

Just a when you think they’ve run out of good restaurant ideas, along comes Sonny’s Three Meat Burger. Owners Safet and Dee Sabanagic have staked their reputations on a burger made with beef, lamb, chicken, and spices from the old country.

Rima’s Diner is squashed into a tiny lot just off the expressway in Crescent Springs. Real estate must have been at a real premium, since you’ll feel claustrophobic just parking around here. Inside, it’s cozy with kitschy remnants of the good life from a simpler time.

It may say “Country Inn” out front, but it’s better known as Red’s Kitchen. And the waitresses wear T-shirts to prove it. You’ll find it on Monmouth Street, right across from the gun shop owned by the County Commissioner, or so I was told at Red’s.