Though not exactly breakfast fare (though then again, why not?), the thin-sliced onion rings are exemplars of their kind. It's hard to find really good onion rings these days; too often, they're either thicker than they should be, or their batter is all but falling off, so that by the time you've finished there's a heaping pile of breading left on the plate. That, or a huge grease stain. Not with these: These sweet, golden-brown beauties hold onto every piece of the uneven batter, yet don't taste in the least bit greasy. They remain crunchy until the very end.

Simpson's blue-plate specials change daily, but tend to include favorites such as homemade meat loaf. A two-inch thick slice is covered with a sweetish tomato sauce; the encrusted top hints at what's inside -- a solid, hearty, all-meat doorstep with hardly a hint of fat, weighing at least eight ounces or more. Served with your choice of two of the daily vegetables, it makes for a sustaining meal. A large scoop of real mashed potatoes and another of the cornbread dressing put my carbohydrate requirement over the daily edge, but seemed worth every gram. The potatoes, thickly mashed and including pieces of the skin, are topped with a brown gravy that lends itself to the ritual of depressing the center of the mound to make a receptacle for the gravy, which is then pressed into the potatoes themselves with a fork. The ritual is repeated until the gravy can no longer be seen. Then you eat. Then you bliss out. The cornbread dressing, prepared with a hint of sage and onion, is covered with a cream gravy to help moisten the dry mass. Since everything is made daily, the flavors are vibrant and fresh. It's sure nice to know that such pleasures of home can still be found for less than six bucks.

One of the mainstay dishes revived from the original Simpson's menu is the steak sandwich. In case you're thinking about a sandwich for a light lunch, think again. A ten-inch French roll is doused with garlic butter then grilled; then that's covered with tender, thin, grilled slices of New York strip joined with mushrooms and onions in a marriage worth celebrating. The bread's exterior retains its crispness, while its interior, under the influence of the mixed juices, softly gives way. This is a sandwich in name only; eating it with your hands instead of a fork is foolish, if not impossible. Besides, a fork makes it easier to avoid letting anything go to waste.

Desserts and fountain drinks have long been a specialty of diners, something that -- thanks to a refrigerated, rotating display-stand filled with desserts that sits right next to the entrance -- you're reminded of if you have to wait for a table. (Actually, waiting for a table is a rarity; a sign outside notes that "if the lobby is full the wait is usually less than ten minutes," and it's correct.) The apple pie a la mode is a mountainous slice of pie with an abundant filling of sweet apple chunks bound together with a thick cinnamon sauce. It's unfortunate that only a tiny scoop of vanilla ice cream is served with such a behemoth; it could stand at least one or two more such scoops. And when I ordered it, my pie was served cool, straight out of the display-o-matic case, instead of being warmed up. But my server quickly remedied the situation, returning not only with a warmed slice but one accompanied by two buxom scoops of ice cream, something that more than made up for the initial error.