Jack and I took the summer off from our Diner odyssey.  I was busy helping run our camp up in NH, and he was busy making as many friends an 18-month old could.  Let’s say that we both did our jobs real well. 

Camp ended and we needed to move our belongings back to MA.  So Jack, Winston and I packed up the car and headed south.  It was great just to have the boys together for another adventure.  Sadly, Max, being just over 3 months old, decided to stay back at Camp with his mom.  Next time, Max.

For about a year I had been excited to take Jack to the Red Arrow Diner in Manchester, NH.  There’s a lot to love about the RA.  First, it’s open 24/7, which is quite rare these days for New England diners. Second, they have their own bakery in the back, and they make some incredibly delectable treats.  Third, it’s still a real workingman’s diner.  There are only a couple of booths, so most customers are served at the extra-long counter.  Fourth, and maybe most importantly, the entire city of Manchester seems to understand the value of such an important cultural landmark.  Each time that I’ve been there a line of people was waiting to get in.

As you travel to as many diners as Jack and I have started to notice the culinary differences in different regions.  In New Jersey, the diners tend to sport menus as thick as a copy of the Iliad, with dishes from every ethnic group that has settled in the area.  Somehow their kitchen staffs - who are typically Guatemalan or Salvadoran – are able to miraculously produce faithful versions of dishes from Italy, Greece, Lebanon, and China, along with standard American fair. I once order matzo ball soup, a Gyro, and a dish of flan in a Jersey Greek diner.  All were world-class.  I can’t imagine how this is done so well.  As you travel north there tends to be less variety in the diners of CT and Rhode Island.  With few exceptions, you tend to find more hamburgers, grilled sandwiches, and fabulous breakfast food.  No frills, no great variety.  And as you enter Southern New Hampshire you start to find diners that specialize in French Canadian-style cooking.  Baked beans become a side dish, and mustard is the condiment of choice.  A sign hangs somewhere heralding a much-loved Pork Pie recipe.  Everything seems to be infused with cheese.  Or whipped cream.   

I’ve only developed a taste for this style of food in the last year or so.  My brother-in-law Mark’s family is of French-Canadian decent.  On New Year’s Morning of 2008 we traveled to his folks’ house, and were treated to a feast.  Amongst the many things that I tried for the first time was Irene’s Pork Pie (covered, of course, in spicy ground mustard).  While I was up the entire night with heart burn I must say it was a revelatory experience.  The woman knows how to make a mean pork pie.  Since then I’ve been researching the influence of this style of cooking on diners in the area, and the Red Arrow is clearly a quality representation of the style.       

Now, you may recall that I wrote that I brought Winston with us on this journey.  As we pulled along side the diner his nose told him that there was great food to be had just feet away, and that he wasn’t invited.  As you can see, he shared with us his extreme displeasure.  I assure you that we brought him a doggy bag of treats from the RA.

So the Red Arrow was the first French-Canadian diner that Jack and I were able to go to together.   We were both excited to be back on our diner adventure.  We stood again the narrow wall behind the counter, waiting for a booth to open up.  It being a diner, we began conversations with everyone that we met.  We also read the many, many MANY articles written about this beloved restaurant.  I explained to Jack who all the famous people were in the photos on the walls. 

We were seated very quickly, and perused the menu.  Sitting at the table, having our first quiet moment together in weeks, I saw how much he had recently grown.  Now he took the time to try and read the menu, moving his fingers slowly across the words.  I was able to ask him if he wanted eggs and he replied “yes”.  He drank his milk a straw in the cup that our waitress brought him.  My little boy was not so little anymore.  I ordered an omelet, and he ordered scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese. We decided to split a side-order spiral-cut ham cooked on the griddle.

Back to the Red Arrow.  I would be remiss if I did not mention the staff of this place.  Our waitress, who clearly was the den mother of the pack, immediately took a liking to Jack.  She asked him if he had ever been there before and I said no.  She threw her hands up in excitement, and ran a large brass bell over the drink machine.  She then yelled “hey girls – we’ve got us a virgin here!”  The entire diner started to clap and welcome us.  The two construction workers got out of the adjacent booth and patted Jack on the back.  We were then handed the guest book and asked if we would sign in.  As you can imagine, we were both beaming.  Then our waitress brought Jack a piece of paper and some crayons.  Jack loved drawing on the Red Arrow mascot while we waited for our food. 

And the food was excellent.  Another great thing about French-Canadian diners is that they serve true hash browns instead of home fries.  Or, if they are the Red Arrow, they give you the option.  Home fries are chunks of fried potatoes, often with onions or peppers thrown in with some seasoning.  Hash browns are thinly-diced potatoes and onions fried into a patty.  If they are done right, the outside is uniformly crisp, while the inside uniformly retains its potato taste.  We both got hash browns, and they were fantastic.  My omelet was oozing with cheddar cheese, and with the onions and mushrooms still popping with freshness.  Jack had recently discovered Heinz Ketchup, which he liberally used to smother his eggs.  Using a big-kid fork he ate every last bit of his ketchup/egg concoction, and even ate all of his toast. 

As we were paying the check and packing up the waitress saw Jack’s drawing.  She liked it so much that she hung it on the wall of the diner.  Jack clapped his hands in appreciation.  I cannot thank the people of the Red Arrow enough for how they treated us, especially on such a busy Monday morning. 

I had mentioned that the Arrow has its own bakery in the back.  True to its French-Canadian roots, their baked goods all seem to have delicious whipped cream as a main ingredient.  We decided to get for Mom two of their pastries.  They make their own Twinkies and Moon Pies, and how could we resist? Sadly, they don’t make black and white cookies, but that’s a New York and New Jersey thing.

Before we continued on our long car ride back to Boston I had to change Jack’s diaper.  Now here’s when we realized just how cool this diner was.  The place is so small that in order to get to the bathroom its customers have to walk through the kitchen.  Now Jack and I have been in many diner kitchens, and some of them are downright revolting.  The Red Arrow’s was spotless.  Every surface looked brand new.   It was a health-inspector’s dream.   It was as if my mother was running the place. 

We couldn’t quite believe how much love and attention went into operating the Red Arrow.  Congratulations to the staff and crew for running an uncommonly good, true to its roots, diner.  Officially, it’s our favorite in New Hampshire!       

Oh, and Winston was still upset when we got back to the car.

The Red Arrow Diner
61 Lowell Street
Manchester, NH
(603) 626-1118