the blue benn diner
Growing up in a small town is principally about finding a dozen cathedrals in a dozen small, happy rooms. Kids in small towns aren't inherently any better or worse at life than kids in cities, obviously— but they do have a unique skill of finding joy in that which is quiet, calm, and, by any measure of scale, small. One of the cathedrals which I'm certain has been found by countless people growing up in Bennington is the Blue Benn Diner. The diner looks, even from the outside, exactly as it should. It's housed in a small building painted bright blue, with a vintage sign and a small entryway often protected by a few feet of salt during the winter.
It has the almost hypnotic effect of making you completely starving as you walk in its doors, mostly because you know, especially if you've been there before, that you're about to treat your stomach to quintessential American diner food. The inside is crowded with tables, but still feels incredibly peaceful. No where in the world does the fact that food is a true equalizer make itself more obvious than in the Blue Benn.
The menu is massive, and if you didn't have option-paralysis already, dozens of laminated placards advertising specials and new desserts dart the board above the counter. Each booth has a vintage music selection box, but you won't have much time to enjoy flipping through before you turn your eyes to the menu and your mouth begins to water.
When I was young, going to the Blue Benn was perhaps my favorite activity. I would always get blueberry pancakes and pork sausage, and perhaps a cider donut for dessert. As I got older, I've migrated more toward their Southwestern Omelette or classic eggs benedict, but when my mom and I went after a tough workout last weekend, stumbling into the diner through ice and snow from a March storm, I knew I had to go back to my classic order from childhood.
I have absolutely nothing bad to say about this meal. I mean, look at those pancakes. They were massive, fluffy, and so full of blueberries that I practically hit my daily fiber intake limit. The pancakes tasted exactly how they should have— sweet, buttery; and, I don't know how, but happy. Maybe the sausage is reheated from a freezer, and maybe it's 20-minute fresh, but I just know it's damn good. I was so happy to go back to the Blue Benn, and I can only hope I find another diner which captures the importance of small, joyful rituals with the same warmth.
Pancakes: 9.5/10
Sausage: 9/10
Overall: 9.4/10