I challenged myself to experience all four Athenian Diners, in the correct order, in twenty-four hours. Thus began the Atheniathon.
Kickoff was at midnight on Sunday at the original A.D. in New Haven. When I called to make sure they were open 24 hours, the man on the phone sounded like he had a Transylvanian accent. By that I mean he sounded like a vampire. According to websites and memory, however, the Athenians boast an essentially Greek/Italian cuisine, but only time can tell. So date-number-one and I arrived dazed from the drive and a little sleepy—at first we didn’t realize our waiter had already put our menus down, so we followed him around the restaurant, circling, circling, until he noticed us and pointed to where he had meant for us to sit. There were five other customers: a couple of Yale students, a dude sitting by himself, and two women in their late 20s talking about how Sabrina was a selfish bitch and always cheats on Barry. When we ordered, I asked our awkward server what his favorite dish was—you know, when in Rome… Except that our guy just shook his head “No.” So I said, jokingly, “You don’t like the food here?” expecting a joke answer in return, but he just kept shaking his head. “No.” French toast it was!
In the spirit of Greek diner tradition, Athenian I was paneled with mirrors and bedazzled with pink neon and pictures of the Parthenon. We were both too tired to ask them interesting questions, so I urgently tried to make eye contact with someone for the check, to no avail. Finally one guy was like, “Miss, if you’re all set you can just pay at the register.” We were definitely all set. On the way home we passed the Gaylord Rehab Clinic, no jokes necessary.
Only four hours later I woke up for breakfast at our very own Athenian II, highly sleepy, questioning the mission. To Athenian’s credit, however, the idea of a big, hot, bacony breakfast made things easier. My favorite Athenian employee of all time was there—possibly the owner/manager?—ogling women as usual, making me feel comfortable and loved. Date-number-two and I debated starting the day with breakfast cocktails but eventually decided against. Nothing out of the ordinary happened—we both ate giant omelets, talked about the familiar mirroring and the pink neon, gossiped about our friends and enemies, and paid at the register. I asked the woman ringing us up if she had been to all the Athenians. “Yes.” Was this the best one? “Yes.” What was going on over in that corner? “A meeting.” Okay.
Onto Athenian III in Milford, which I visited alone. I went at 4 in the afternoon, expecting a quick trip. Athenian III, however, totally surprised me. The building itself was a slight variation (improvement?) on the usual Athenian format—A.D. III was a beautiful, freakish Vegas palace of tiered, rolling mirrors and glamorously reflective pillars. It’s smaller than its two older sisters, but prettier and more industrious—the Athenian Cinderopolis. The waitstaff was sweet and helpful, and made my first solo dining experience enjoyable rather than uncomfortable. Everyone was so friendly that I lingered, not rushing my grilled cheese, thinking about life. On the way out, I told the host that I was writing a column about visiting all four Athenians in one day—he told me I should try to get a “good price” from Athenian IV. I imagined myself giving someone a secret wink, or slipping a piece of confidential paper across a counter, neither of which I would ever do.
Though my appetite was lagging, my spirit and determination carried me to scenic Waterbury. Date-number-three and I got pitifully lost en route (never, ever second guess MapQuest), but Athenian IV was worth the accidental detour. As the youngest and most innocent Athenian, A.D. IV was decorated semi-tastefully with a faux stone façade, and it featured fewer mirrors and a quieter atmosphere. Each booth came with its own jukebox, although we soon discovered that the songs listed did not in fact correspond with the numbers they were listed with. So when I tried to play “Sweet Caroline” it came out as “Cowboy” by Kid Rock. Ditto for Van Morrison/Papa Roach and Charlie Daniels Band/Aaliyah.
Our smooth-talking waiter suggested the waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, just the classic Greco/Transylvanian meal I wanted. At the register, the manager promised us he would buy us an ouzo next time we came by. And I couldn’t resist trying, just once on the way out, to get one of those stupid stuffed animals from that stupid game. I lost, but felt grimly satisfied. Athenian IV—far and away my favorite.
So ended the Atheniathon—I rose to the challenge, wielded handfuls of cash, tipped generously, and learned a little something about Connecticut geography. Driving down smooth and silent highways past moonlit hills is really kind of amazing, and if your car starts making horrible whinnying noises, just turn the radio up. And you can never go wrong with French toast. Thanks for the memories, Athenian, I’ll see you soon.
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