Spud Mountain or Bust: A Jersey Diner Diary

Each time a truck rumbles by on 130, the Dolphin shudders a bit. I swear I see whitecaps in my water glass.

Lunch. Mastoris in Bordentown is a Jersey landmark, which explains the buses lined up outside. Inside it's a madhouse, with people swarming a warren of rooms including a pastry shop, a bar and a dining room. We ask to be seated in the diner section, where Sue the waitress immediately places a plate of cinnamon and cheese breads before us.

We scour the most intimidating menu we've come across (stock tables have larger type) and settle on the sandwich selections. There are 82 of them. Something called a "Sloppy John" speaks to me, so we order it to split, along with the aforementioned Spud Mountain.

The sandwich has layers of fresh turkey, roast beef and corned beef soaked in Russian dressing and comes with a side of slaw. We save half of it for later and concentrate on Spud Mountain, which still looks untouched when Sue comes to haul it away.

When I ask if anyone ever finishes it, she says, "Hardly anyone. Well, maybe if six people are working on it. . . ."

Dinner. It's starting to get dark, so it means time for more food. The Americana in East Windsor has more of an art deco feel than the others, with a nice woody interior, exposed beams, tall ceilings and stone walls. There are fewer booths, with tables arranged as at a fine restaurant.

But not to worry: The menu is thicker than the last book I read, with Italian chow competing with Greek and Mexican for attention. We quickly home in on something called Mile High Meatloaf, which sounds like a good candidate to split.

It's a thing of beauty, a perfectly constructed tower of beef, mashed potatoes, gravy and "frizzled onions" resting on a slab of rye bread. A guy at the table next to us (pretty beefy himself) asks what we're eating, then watches as we divide the masterpiece.

It's the first diner we leave without a doggie bag.