A diner between bistros, cafes and cabarets

Although residents of more northerly states first conceived restaurants built to resemble early 20th century railroad dining cars, New Jersey had succeeded in becoming the spiritual center of diners by their golden age in the 1950s. The art-deco steel structures that line this state's highways turn up in movies and A&E retrospectives and, along with big hair and Frank Sinatra, have come to define Jersey in the nation's eyes. Those of us transplants who view the state's immortal diners as one of New Jersey's rare virtues lament Princeton's lack of a classic Jersey diner; the Princetonian Diner (no relation to this newspaper) on Route 1 is too far to satisfy impromptu cravings for milkshakes and 24-hour breakfasts.

Carousel, the restaurant under the green-striped awning across from Wild Oats Market on Nassau Street, is the closest one can get to eating diner fare without having to find a car. Purists will doubtless object to my lumping Carousel in the same family as the restaurant Edward Hopper painted in "Nighthawks"—the walls are brick, bar stools are conspicuously absent, and no jukebox cranks out tinny renditions of Ol' Blue Eyes—but owner Allen Schwager reports that the Carousel does date to the '40s or '50s, and little effort has been spent to renovate the place during the intervening decades. You'll be disappointed if you're hoping for the kitsch of modern chain diners a la Johnny Rocket's, but Carousel's ugly plastic-covered tables, bottomless cups of coffee, and breakfast until 2:00 a.m. are a welcome break from the upscale establishments around Palmer Square.

Carousel partially compensates for its lack of diner aesthetic with its eccentric mix of truant Princeton High School students, passers-by and crotchety locals — Schwager swears he has customers who have ventured in twice a day thirty years running. The space is cramped, but the room buzzes with conversation and overwhelms you with cigarette smoke, and the harried waitresses make you feel welcome with their liberal application of "hon."

Carousel's food is what you should expect of diners – the sort of french toast, burgers and club sandwiches your grandparents could have served for a brunch on Sunday. None of these would win kudos from a gourmet, but everything is made-to-order, piping hot, and served in generous portions at student-friendly prices. A friend of mine swears by the grilled cheese sandwiches, while I particularly recommend the homefries and the shakes - a three glass pitcher will set you back three bucks.

For dinner, the restaurant offers comfort-food specials that include garlic bread and an inedible salad – in line with diner tradition - but I suggest sticking to the simpler-to-prepare breakfasts and sandwiches.

Despite recent moves by other restaurateurs to compete in the high-end market (witness TJ's reincarnation as Nodo), Schwager says that the Carousel fills a popular niche, and he has no plans to alter it. While I cannot say that the restaurant has enticed me to join the ranks of the twice-a-day regulars, I am pleased that it will buck the local trend and continue to offer its late-night down home meals.