Additionally breakfast, the benchmark for true diner aficionados, still satisfies. Omelets feature fresh, not canned, vegetables. Scrambled eggs ordered soft come moistly perfect. Waitresses butter your toast while it's hot, so you don't have to stress your bleary self coping with leaden lumps of ice-cold butter. And orange juice is fresh squeezed. The breakfast's sole drawback is that it's only served until 11:00 a.m.
Most lunch/dinner entrées come with two sides. But get there early, before 1:30 p.m. or so, to score an order of the almost-as-good-as-ever coleslaw, crunchy and slightly sweet. If you miss out on the slaw, the salad, surprisingly, ain't bad. It also ain't mesclun. But instead of standard diner iceberg, the S&S serves dark romaine accented by at least three or four other chopped veggies. As ever the only available dressings, aside from separate cruets of DIY oil and vinegar, are old-fashioned pink French and a creamy Italian that is tastier, or so anyone with post-1970 tastes would think. I go for the French when I'm in a Brady Bunch kinda mood, and it's easy to fantasize about impossibly ideal concepts of family life at the S&S.
The other stand-out side dish is the gravy-topped mashed potatoes: real potatoes and real good, as they always were. I'd pass on the rest of the cooked sides, but don't listen to me. Listen to your waitress.