What a drag! A juicy piece of Jersyana cuisine culture has slouched into history. The Anthony Wayne restaurand on westbound 46 has forever closed its doors.
Imagine a dark, low-ceilinged cave festooned with bad,antique paintings, wobbly, wooden chairs and thick wooden tables stained by decades of steak sauce, cola, elbow grease and man sweat worked into the wood by generations of carnivores. To call it a diner would give the wrong essence. To call it a restaurant would insult restaurants. It was a steak joint and it was glorious.
Three guys with filthy aprons and questionable hygiene sweated and worked in the tiny space between the order and the half-ton iron grill, carbonized by half a century of sizzling meat. If they served anything else other than steak sandwiches, fries and a coke, I wouldn't know.
The parking lot [where exiting diners would constantly meet a near-death each time they darted into traffic] held the most mouthwatering and delicious greasy fog of 100% grade A smoke floating down from the chimney.
It was a delight to visit. I'll miss it.