All Night Long... at the Macon Diner

All Night Long... at The Macon Diner

Chris Horne

Considering my antics in print, on TV and as emcee, it would seem that I have no shame. But, for some strange reason, I feel weird when I have to take a picture of my food on a restaurant spotlight assignment. I think people see me do this and wonder if I have any friends. Well, it’d been a while since I felt that awkward, so I drew my own name out of the hat for the Macon Diner, a new joint in the old bones of a long-vacant Applebee’s. My camera batteries died so not only was I the guy trying to take pictures of his food, I was the guy whisper-cussing at a camera as his girlfriend watched with amused sympathy.

But I digress.

Going in, I had mixed emotions. On the one hand, I’m trying to eat healthier—heart smart, if you will—and on the other hand, I really like grease and fat and things that taste like butter, which means I had a feeling that I’d like the Macon Diner no matter what. I say that because I’d already heard, despite their very recent opening, that they could be incredibly rude. That said, my favorite place to eat in Macon was once Denny’s. Obviously, good service doesn’t really matter to me.

As we waited to place our drink order, a guy—who I just realized may or not have actually been employed there (he had no uniform on)—came by with a “free sample” of chicken wings. In addition to being free, they were tasty but that kindness was wiped out when we learned they carry Pepsi instead of Coke, which I thought was illegal in Georgia. If not, it certainly isn’t good manners.

The menu is so gigantic that I’m quite nearly tempted to embarrass myself with that abused neologism adds enormous. In fact, swimming the menu’s vast sea of culinary options, its gathered smattering of international flavors, I was lost. It was both gigantic and enormous. And it took forever to decide.

My date, Doc Brown, ordered salmon over rice with a salad and lemon soup to start. She didn’t like the soup because it was tart, but I really dug it. She asked for another salad because the first was drenched in bad Ranch dressing with dead lettuce underneath. Not the best start. The waitress, by the way, wasn’t exactly rude, and she wasn’t extremely doting. She was, however, diligent with her service; she just didn’t seem very happy, which is certainly no crime.

My dish was one of the Greek sampler platters. It has a name—similar in nature to those named for Macon, Atlanta and Georgia—but I can’t remember what it is, and it isn’t listed in the expansive to-go menu. While the good doctor didn’t really enjoy her meal (and seemed grossed out by the amount of meat in mine) I gobbled away despite the fact some stuff was missing.

The dish was supposed to come with meatballs and gyro meat, but I had to ask for it, and when the waitress came back with the meatballs, she said there was no gyro meat. Though it’s rather inexcusable for the kitchen to send out a plate knowing they don’t have a crucial element of it, I soon forgave them because I was given beef souvlaki instead. (And my take-out box overfloweth.)

They also have massive desserts available, but you might want to take a second trip there for that. It looks sinful.

The Greek food wasn’t as good, in my opinion, as neighboring Papouli’s. The wings weren’t as good as nearby Rivalry’s. But none of these places is open for business at four in the morning. The Macon Diner is, and that’s its primary advantage. And there’s a bunch of different kinds of foods. There’s a lot to be said for that… especially at four in the morning.