Seeking food, and finding Dino

Dino moved into view with a blackboard and a box of colored chalk. "Here," he said. "Make a pretty writing. 'Ambrosia Omelet - $5.95.' Choose any color you want. For my Ambrosia Omelet."

I picked pink, and began. When I finished, he said with a grin, "Now everyone can see that I make ambrosia omelets! When you come back, your writing will be waiting for you. Here. I put it in the window. It is beautiful."

Our burgers and fries arrived. As we ate, Dino began to tell us his story: how he'd left Greece to come to America - "the greatest country in the world. God bless America!" How he'd been a master chef in Las Vegas. Very rich. How his wife had left him with nothing but the trailer out back.

He traveled across the country looking for work and stopped next-door for gas. He persuaded the gas-station owner to let him open the vacant diner.

He gave us his business card. "My menu for special occasions," he said with pride. "Vichyssoise, oysters Rockefeller, shrimp scampi, clams casino, filet mignon Rossini, fettuccine primavera, chateaubriand, beef Wellington, lobster thermidor, chupino, ossobuco. Friday and Saturday evenings from 5 'til 8 p.m., by appointment only. Continental cuisine by Executive Chef Dino. 24-course meal for two: $200." We wondered if he'd had any takers in Ellsworth.

"I am a great chef, you know. See?" he said as he walked to the medal hanging above the cash register. "This medal was won by me in Salinas, Kansas. It shows I am a great chef." He hung the medal proudly around his neck.

Just then, a truck driver walked in and slid into the table beside us. He had that "I've been through Kansas" look. "Hello, I'm Dino. Welcome to my diner...."

The driver placed his order. When Dino returned with his food, he left lollipops and gum beside our plates. "For your trip," he whispered.

Suddenly, he turned, leaned over the truck driver and boomed, "You! You must take our picture! With the beautiful sign!" Startled, the driver nodded.

We trooped to the window. Dino grabbed a camera and showed the man how to operate it. The chef then hurried over to us as the truck driver, his lethargy gone, stood up on his seat to get a better angle. "Get a little closer together," he said. "That's good." Smile and snap.

"Outside!" said Dino. "Your beautiful motorcycles and my diner with your sign!" Laughing now in the sunshine. Medal and motorcycles proudly displayed.

It was time for goodbyes. "You must go now. Your trip," he said. We'd already spent twice as long as we'd planned and knew he was right. "You must come back," he said. "You are good people. Good Americans. God bless America!"

We threw our legs over the bikes, fired the engines, and moved slowly into the Kansas afternoon. We had a lot of America to cover before the sun went down. My last view of Dino was his wave in my rear-view mirror.

Ambrosia. A word from mythology describing the food of the gods. Hamburgers and fries: food of the gods? Probably not. But, in the middle of Kansas, by a madcap Greek, we know what we were served: love.

It was delicious.

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