The Blue Comet opened in the spring of 1961, in a chrome-and-glass building put up right where the highway bent past town. The original owners named it after the streamliner that used to run the line behind the lot — locals had been calling that stretch "the comet" for years, and the name stuck to the diner instead.
The train's long gone. The counter isn't. Same fourteen stools, same terrazzo floor, same neon in the window that somebody has to climb up and fix about twice a year.
What's changed: the lounge went in on the east side in 1978, the pie case moved twice, and the menu picked up a few things it didn't have in '61. What hasn't: breakfast runs all day, the coffee's bottomless, and nobody's going to hurry you out of a booth.
Three generations have run this place now. If you've been coming a while, there's a decent chance somebody behind the counter already knows how you take your eggs.
Soups, gravy, biscuits, and pie are made in this kitchen, every day, from scratch. It's slower. It's the whole point.
Nobody's ever left here hungry. If a plate looks small going out, it goes back.
Stay for a second cup. Stay for a third. The booth is yours as long as you want it.
Third generation. Grew up doing homework in the corner booth, took over the place in 2014.
Runs the griddle six mornings a week. Holds the recipe for the butterscotch pie and won't write it down.
Behind the bar Thursday through Saturday. Will absolutely put your name in the karaoke book for you.
Staff shown are fictional characters written for this demo.