SCRATCH
“I try to make people feel good.” How a New Jersey restaurant keeps its doors open.
Julia Rothman and
Julia is an illustrator. Shaina is a writer and filmmaker.
Shortly after 5 a.m. on a recent Friday, Bendix Diner, a small family-owned business, began frying eggs on the griddle to prepare the first of dozens of dishes it would serve to a constantly rotating cast of regulars.
From dawn to lunch, 46 customers ate more than 87 eggs and 36 strips of bacon and drank gallons of coffee. This classic restaurant in Hasbrouck Heights, New Jersey, just 15 miles from Manhattan, offered a glimpse into so many things affecting the country right now.
Above the din of the kitchen and a television broadcasting a court program, we could hear people lamenting the rising cost of gas and goods. Some debated who should be the next president, while others discussed marijuana laws.
The only constant was the sense of community that diners found in the place and its owner, John Diakakis, a 56-year-old blind man whose family has owned the restaurant since 1985 (although it has been in existence since the 1940s).
Despite not being able to see, Mr. Diakakis moves quickly: delivering food, replenishing drinks, handling money. He is helped by a small team: his three children, who collaborate on weekends; a lifelong cook, Julio; and a part-time dishwasher known as Tiny (although he is over six feet tall).
The regular customers, mostly men, many of whom also have nicknames, let Mr. Diakakis know who is coming in and carry the customers’ dirty dishes to the kitchen.
“In this place you make a decent living. But running a restaurant is a laborious job,” Diakakis said.
Running a small company like Bendix has always been precarious. Weekdays are unpredictable, he said. Weekends are hectic (the restaurant regularly consumes 1,000 eggs). But it has become even more difficult in recent years as rapid inflation has made operating costs unpredictable.
“After Covid, there have been many changes. Week after week it is different. Until recently, a carton of eggs had doubled, and when there is news about bird flu, a carton will cost up to four times as much. As we kept track of each meal ordered that morning, Mr. Diakakis talked to us about what was on the menu.
New Jersey has long embraced its reputation as the food capital of the country. Peter Sedereas, who owns a restaurant in New Jersey and runs an unofficial restaurant coalition, said the number of diners in the state has declined in recent years. “We don’t do official monitoring; It’s more word of mouth. At its peak we had 575 diners and now we have about 400.”
The Diakakis have been quick to adapt: updating their menu with vegetarian options and opening their doors to movie shoots for additional income. “This summer I’m going to try DoorDash and Uber Eats. I have to make sure I stay above deck,” Diakakis said. “Things change. You have to evolve.”
While Bendix continues to adapt, its enduring appeal is the nostalgia it fosters.
But customers here also like to talk about current events in a country that feels under siege. Regular customers come from all walks of life and all parties. “The parrots from Fox News and CNN will argue with each other at the counter. “I try to stay apolitical,” Diakakis said.
Customers like Khaled Mohamed, 49, a professor and aeronautical engineer, are feeling their own financial pressures.
Walter Martin, 59, owns a limousine service. He is known as Limo Walt. He first joined Bendix 13 years ago.
Today, a place like Bendix is being pressured from multiple sides: from high ingredient costs, rising property taxes and competition from food delivery apps that have become a fixture of daily life. A restaurant has to offer something special to attract diners away from home.
For Dominique Cebollero, 30, a police officer, and his mother, Mary, 70, it’s the environment in Bendix that does it.
Ultimately, this is Mr. Diakakis’ special sauce. It fosters community and creates an environment where people take care of each other. In a world that often seems cruel, Bendix Diner is anything but.
“It’s been almost two and a half years since I raised the price of food,” Diakakis said. “I’m not afraid to charge a little more, because I try to make people feel good. They laugh, they eat something, they experience the blind man.”
“They don’t leave here thinking, ‘Why the hell did I come in?’ “