Before she passed away, my grandmother was a doll doctor. I guess you can make a career out of that. Anyway, when I was young we would visit, and there would be doll extremities all over the house. Little baby legs and arms and heads and even eyeballs would be strewn about like the Little People's Daycare just stormed Fallujah or something. That creeped me the freak out.
Welcome to the Papermoon Diner.
Grandma had nothing to do with the Papermoon, but this is where that bygone battle continues. At the entrance, an army of plastic soldiers marches over the head of a yellow mannequin. Toys and mannequins wage war with Crayola hand grenades, painting the walls with primary colors and toy store casualties. In one corner of the restaurant where splintered vines hang from the ceiling, armless mannequins writhe against old farm equipment, outdated cash registers and antique blenders. Not too far from them, their inanimate brethren bow to conquering plastic robots.
Maybe I have some issues. Maybe other people don't see the toy wars I see. Maybe you think Papermoon Diner is a fun-loving, happy-go-lucky sort of joint. Well, soldier, maybe you should read the "House Rules."
My personal favorite -- no crybabies. What could you possibly have to cry about with all the fun toys and cheery atmosphere? How about the $5 minimum order? How about the $3 shared plate fee? How about the $2 it costs to add onion rings? How about you stop cryin' about it, sissy?
Beyond the house rules, the menu includes breakfast (served 24 hours), hot and cold sandwiches, "Pastabilities" and "TV Dinners." Most items hover below the $10 mark except some of the pasta dishes and dinners, but by the time you add fries and a drink you've gone right up to, and just beyond, $10. I shouldn't be so critical, though, since my girlfriend and I each only ate half and had the leftovers for lunch the next day. We could've even shared one order of fries as long as we made sure it was a covert op, or we'd be in for a $3 charge on a $2 item.
My girlfriend ordered Charisse's Cheesesteak and got some onion rings. I got the Full Monte Carlo and fries. Papermoon's food is actually a step above standard diner fare, though the menu, stuffed inside a disemboweled children's book, clings to diner-esque nomenclature like "Lauren's Loaf of Love" ($9) and "Lox Around the Clock" ($10).
Gazing out the window from our seat, I noticed a toilet and bathroom sink-turned-planter similar to one in front of the restaurant. Outside, though, I realized the difference is that the planter near the entrance isn't that cute. It's actually pretty gruesome. Inside the tub is a pink mannequin, spread-eagle and chained at the ankles. When we passed that prisoner of war and the bush growing between its legs, my girlfriend said exactly what I was thinking. "This is the kind of place that will give me nightmares tonight."
Dish: Charisse's Cheesesteak ($6) wasn't the best cheesesteak I ever had (and I've had plenty), but the accompanying onion rings ($2) were more than just compensation. They were large, sweet and deep-fried. Mmm, deep-fried. My Full Monte Carlo ($8) was excellent. A massive pile of turkey and ham is topped with havarti, and layered between two pieces of challah dipped in French toast batter and deep-fried. Mmm, deep-fried. And who says I can't get a side of Breakfast Syrup with my dinner? I'll admit it -- I used it to dip my fries ($2) in.
Damage: All that and a cup of coffee topped out at $20.48. Split two ways, that's $10.24. And, for you snoops, yes, I did pay. I just split the cost for you, dweebs. Besides, one of Papermoon's other rules is no split checks. So deal.
Decision: The food is good, and I would say check out Papermoon for its "ambiance," but if you're broke, you may not want to eat here too often.
Welcome to the Papermoon Diner.
Grandma had nothing to do with the Papermoon, but this is where that bygone battle continues. At the entrance, an army of plastic soldiers marches over the head of a yellow mannequin. Toys and mannequins wage war with Crayola hand grenades, painting the walls with primary colors and toy store casualties. In one corner of the restaurant where splintered vines hang from the ceiling, armless mannequins writhe against old farm equipment, outdated cash registers and antique blenders. Not too far from them, their inanimate brethren bow to conquering plastic robots.
Maybe I have some issues. Maybe other people don't see the toy wars I see. Maybe you think Papermoon Diner is a fun-loving, happy-go-lucky sort of joint. Well, soldier, maybe you should read the "House Rules."
My personal favorite -- no crybabies. What could you possibly have to cry about with all the fun toys and cheery atmosphere? How about the $5 minimum order? How about the $3 shared plate fee? How about the $2 it costs to add onion rings? How about you stop cryin' about it, sissy?
Beyond the house rules, the menu includes breakfast (served 24 hours), hot and cold sandwiches, "Pastabilities" and "TV Dinners." Most items hover below the $10 mark except some of the pasta dishes and dinners, but by the time you add fries and a drink you've gone right up to, and just beyond, $10. I shouldn't be so critical, though, since my girlfriend and I each only ate half and had the leftovers for lunch the next day. We could've even shared one order of fries as long as we made sure it was a covert op, or we'd be in for a $3 charge on a $2 item.
My girlfriend ordered Charisse's Cheesesteak and got some onion rings. I got the Full Monte Carlo and fries. Papermoon's food is actually a step above standard diner fare, though the menu, stuffed inside a disemboweled children's book, clings to diner-esque nomenclature like "Lauren's Loaf of Love" ($9) and "Lox Around the Clock" ($10).
Gazing out the window from our seat, I noticed a toilet and bathroom sink-turned-planter similar to one in front of the restaurant. Outside, though, I realized the difference is that the planter near the entrance isn't that cute. It's actually pretty gruesome. Inside the tub is a pink mannequin, spread-eagle and chained at the ankles. When we passed that prisoner of war and the bush growing between its legs, my girlfriend said exactly what I was thinking. "This is the kind of place that will give me nightmares tonight."
Dish: Charisse's Cheesesteak ($6) wasn't the best cheesesteak I ever had (and I've had plenty), but the accompanying onion rings ($2) were more than just compensation. They were large, sweet and deep-fried. Mmm, deep-fried. My Full Monte Carlo ($8) was excellent. A massive pile of turkey and ham is topped with havarti, and layered between two pieces of challah dipped in French toast batter and deep-fried. Mmm, deep-fried. And who says I can't get a side of Breakfast Syrup with my dinner? I'll admit it -- I used it to dip my fries ($2) in.
Damage: All that and a cup of coffee topped out at $20.48. Split two ways, that's $10.24. And, for you snoops, yes, I did pay. I just split the cost for you, dweebs. Besides, one of Papermoon's other rules is no split checks. So deal.
Decision: The food is good, and I would say check out Papermoon for its "ambiance," but if you're broke, you may not want to eat here too often.
