Celebrating those sturdy landmarks of modern American cuisine: the diner, the soda fountain& the luncheonette.

Two Timer: Bing''s owner Kelli Bohanan is a double-timing dynamo at the area''s only "true diner".

Way back in 1965hamburgers cost 35 cents at Oliver Drugs lunch counter in Mobile, Alabama. McDonald''s was still a few million shy of its "One Billion Sold!" claim then, so chances were, if you had a hankering for a burger, that you''d head for the corner luncheonette. There, fast food from a slower era would arrive on a sturdy ironstone plate, garnished with a dill pickle wedge and a handful of potato chips.

At Oliver Drugs in ''65, that would''ve been my mother behind the counter, ready to take your order. A six-foot tall, long-legged blonde with her hair neatly twisted up in a French knot and a ruffled apron spread over her fitted white cotton shift, she took the breakfast and lunch orders from a long row of 12 lucky patrons swiveling on stools full to overflowing by 7am.

Behind her, that would have been my stepfather doing the characteristic dip and dive between deep-fryer, oven and six-burner, where a pot of turnip greens and a kettle of Navy beans--just a couple of offerings from the list of daily specials--simmered slowly all day long. As any regular patron of a deep South luncheonette could testify, when those two items were joined by cornbread to soak up all that good pot liquor, a blue plate holy trinity emerged. But there was more. Fried chicken, catfish, Salisbury steak and gravy, roast beef, pork chops--choose one entrée as the spirit moved you.

The cook, my stepdad, liked to put a little spin on each plate before sending it down the line, where my mom, poised to intercept, would snag it, wipe the rim and serve. Since he was only 5''6", I suppose my mother and he appeared to be something of an odd couple. But the restaurant business--both then and now--always brings together a huge cast of disparate characters. And there have always been people who choose to take a seat at the counter rather than a table to see the show and take part in the centerstage action.

Lunch counters aren''t only a stage to everyday events, but have been a part of this country''s culinary history since their inception around 1825. That was the year Philadelphia apothecary shop owner Dr. Elias Durand became famous for his carbonated water fizzes, thus cross-pollinating the pharmacy and food businesses. It didn''t take long until treating yourself to a phosphate--or a malted, soda, sundae or milkshake--was an established part of a good drugstore shopping experience.

By World War II, the concept had expanded to include hot meals, and became an integral part of mid-20th-century dining habits. They became a different part of the historical landscape in the early ''60s, when lunch counters served as the crossroads where African-Americans would finally meet their civil rights. Sit-ins at Woolworth''s and Kress stores across the south started a process that eventually broke the back of segregation.

Joining soda fountains and luncheonettes in the storied pages of Americana is the diner. Though the term often is applied generically, Daniel Zilka, director of the American Diner Museum in Providence, Rhode Island, stands ready to correct any word-lazy transgressors. "Diners evolved out of lunch wagons here in Providence in 1872," says Zilka. "By the 1920s, they became known as diners. During their heyday from the mid-1930s until the ''50s, there were about 6,000 of them in the USA. These days, there are about 2,500 in operation, mostly on the East Coast."

An authentic diner is prefabricated in a factory, assembled on site, and outfitted with booths as well as stools lined up against a long counter. Sometimes they''re converted from old train or trolley cars. A good one will invariably boast of snappy service with a saucy attitude.

Monterey County is the proud home of one remaining diner that fits the bill: Bing''s in Castroville, a former 900-series Berkeley-to-Oakland streetcar parked in its spot on Merritt Street since 1948. Reassembled on swampland--the place has a slightly tipped-over gravitational pull to it--Bing''s has survived numerous owners, near bankruptcies and floods.

Kelli Bohanan, Bing''s brand-new proprietress, recently arrived here from Knoxville, Tenn. After stints as a secretary and funeral director, it was the food business that won her heart and her attention.

What is it that gives a diner that homey quality? "Well, hon," drawls Bohanan, "I can tell you everybody''s name all down the counter and at every table." She proceeds to do just that. "And here comes Tony from over at the garage. Same time every day."

"We''re all on probation," volunteers one old-timer, a couple of stools down. "And this is where we hang out. Hey, where''s my breakfast, Kelli? Aww, that''s all right--take your time. And hurry up while you''re at it!"

"Here''s the guy you oughta talk to," says Bohanan. "Y''all all move down one so John can sit down!" Dutifully, the five "probationers" obey as another regular claims his spot.

"I''ve been coming here since ''37," says John Duran. "I was just out of the Navy when the Wurtzens opened the place up. Worked here as a dishwasher when they couldn''t find anybody else. The place was open around the clock back then. Always something going on."

Duran attests that the menu has stayed pretty much the same these 54 years, with burgers remaining popular, although the meatloaf with sautéed mushrooms, mashed potatoes and brown gravy is his personal favorite. The countertop has been changed since the Depression, now sporting light beige Formica, but the stools are original. They''re the comfortable padded kind, a scuffed red vinyl with a swivel.

"We''ll be doing more barbecuing outside," says Bohanan, "and featuring more of the kinds of seasonal fresh vegetables that grow around here. All made to order. We''re not about cookie-cutter cuisine here."

I finish my coffee and say my goodbyes down the line, feeling like I''ve actually come to know some Castroville folk. I''m bid a "Bye now, sweet''art" as the door swings shut behind me. When I later catch myself humming "Oh, Susannah," I''m not surprised.

Counter Criteria

Intent on uncovering more of MoCo''s brand of counter culture, I first decided to develop some make-the-cut criteria. Breakfast and lunch must be served. And there had to be a counter, of course. With stools. And big, new-fangled chains would have to bite the dust. So bye-bye, Denny''s.

It''s sad to say that except for Norman Rockwell prints, drugstore dining has witnessed its swan song. Woolworth''s, the paragon of general merchandise stores, was once the one-stop shop where you could pick out a lampshade and a new pair of underwear and sidle up to the counter to enjoy a Frito pie--a ladle of chili scooped into a bag of corn chips--all while your prescription was being filled. Woolworth''s closed 400 stores on its 117th birthday in 1997, having outlasted other five-and-dime icons like S.S. Kresge, Sprouse-Reitz and Newberry''s.

Although you''ll have to get your underwear somewhere else, what does happily become evident is that counter cuisine is still very much alive and well in every part of the county, drawing locals and tourists alike. It may be a brand new millennium, but part of the appeal of this culinary niche must be a timeless, cozy quality that only matching Formica and floor tile combinations, slow-moving ceiling fans and easy background chatter can create.

"At 7am, they''re lined up at the door," says Chris, who''s been pouring coffee for the 10 years at Pacific Grove''s Bay Café, soon to be known as Butterfly Bay. "It''s like a re-run every morning. One of our customers has been coming in for breakfast every day since the place first opened 26 years ago. We even get the same people from out of state coming back every year."

New chef/owner Patrice Pioro aspires to improve the menu across Bay Café''s board, transforming the place into a bistro ("the French idea of a diner," he explains), while staying true to the restaurant''s historied standards.

Take a spin on one of Bay''s 10 stools and you''ll be sure to find "bisquits" (French for biscuits?) and gravy and a guaranteed meatloaf special twice a week. Look closer and you''ll also see a regional twist on the usual club sandwich--where else would you find a squid club besides Monterey County? Tarte tatin for dessert, anyone?

Down the street at Toasties, Therese Yee confirms the joys of familiar faces finding a second home. Pretty much the same early morning crowd has been warming these seats (maple, ladderback, with a swivel) at her counter (mauve, speckled, could be Corian) for 15 years. "Contractors, mostly," is how she describes her clientele. That could explain why the homemade corned beef hash sells so well. "We make it fresh, every day," she stresses, "corned beef right from the brisket."

A hearty appetite also could come in handy for another Toasties best sellers--tri-colored three cheese tortellini with scrambled eggs and spinach. The lacy curtain, country cottage theme and interesting selection of salads also make Toasties a popular ladies luncheon destination.

The fact that America''s Last Hometown majors in "cozy" isn''t lost on another PG eatery endeavoring to uphold "traditional American café cuisine." Breakers Café owners John and Kimm Stidham chose dark-stained wainscot walls and comfortable, antique-ish tables and chairs, offset with colorful window-framed local landscape murals to get the look they wanted. The resulting atmosphere gives the place a feel like it''s been around longer than its two years in business.

But it''s not all just about looks. "We make our biscuits from scratch and our gravy from ground pork sausage," asserts John, "and it''s the kind with real chunks of sausage--not little flecks." Breakers also takes good care of its non-meat oriented customers, offering vegetarian sausage that also tucks into a biscuit quite nicely. For the maximum Breakers'' experience, claim a seat at the teak-stained counter in one of five high-back wooden stools and the Stidhams promise not to send you away hungry.

Plate Tectonics: Ray Villanueva chows down at Sang''s cafe, a hotspot of hearty helpings, while young Will Backus does the same.

King of Quantity

Copious cups of coffee later, sitting on one of 13 aqua-speckled stools, I note the tall neat stacks of individually portioned jams on the matching aqua-speckled counter at the Tabbacchi''s Family Coffey Shop in Salinas. (Aqua is very big in this genre of the restaurant business.)

Owner Mike Tabbacchi started washing dishes here for $1.75 an hour when he was 16 and the place was a Golden West outpost. Three restaurants later (he owns sibling shops in King City and Freedom), Tabbacchi''s got a formula that works. The secret is a huge menu with tons of choices--try deciding from among 10 burgers, eight club sandwiches and a dozen omelettes--and friendly waitresses pouring bottomless cups of coffee.

"Taking some kind of survey?" the old gentleman sitting next to me asks. (If you choose to sit at the counter, you will never dine alone.)

"Uhhh, sorta," I reply. "Food pretty good here?"

"Yeah. I come here all the time," he says. "But the thing is, you can''t believe how much they give you to eat."

"Yeah?"

"I end up taking part of it home. My wife''ll finish it up for me."

One more fundamental rib in the American dining backbone: Quantity is king. Even though we''re far more often behind a computer than the plow, American food is meant to be heaped before us.

Both Salinas and Monterey versions of Margie''s Diner stake their reputations on the belief that more is, well, maybe not quite enough. With an advertising campaign that wildly flaunts the calorie counts of some of its made-with-real-ice-cream milkshakes, Margie''s overseers know no shame.

How about the "Huge Hot," a small mountain of roast turkey, beef or meatloaf piled atop a giant glop of homemade, peeled-in-the-back mashed potatoes, the whole thing smothered in gravy? Try one of these and you will simplify your life by never having to eat again. Burgers--from the "very sloppy" patty melt (a counter cuisine must-have) to the Winky ("just a little bit of heaven")--are part of Margie''s Diet Program. As the menu divulges: "She''s going to make everyone else fat." With seven locations throughout Central California, Margie''s is on a mission.

With three more stops ahead in Oldtown Salinas, one truism begins to emerge: If you really want to see what makes any locale tick, take yourself out to breakfast and sit at a counter. Better yet, make it some small joint that you barely know about (there are many that can''t afford to advertise) and, at the very least, you will be charmed ("okey dokie" is still viable vernacular) and perhaps enlightened.

To wit, Salinas'' own Sang''s was at one time the home of "the longest bar west of the Mississippi." Brothers Don and Jim Sang''s father took over the landmark in the late ''40s and closed it after the ''89 earthquake. After having grown up in the business, the closure didn''t set well with his sons, so they re-opened in ''92. The bar used to extend all the way through the length of the restaurant, roughly the equivalent of a city block. And, of course, as Don points out, "John Steinbeck often came in to celebrate back when our dad was running the place."

These days, Sang''s bar has shrunk its horizons into a pink Formica counter with 10 wooden stools. Burgers weigh in at half a pound, and the brothers pound out their chicken fried steaks from New York cuts. "Home Cooking At Its Best" proclaims the special board, right alongside today''s featured breakfast, the "Spamy Wamy"--grilled Spam on top of either hash browns or home fries, covered with gravy and your choice of toast.

Dudley''s (charmingly spelled "Duldey''s" on the menu) is just up the street. Here, a creamy colored, extra-wide Formica seven-seater sports a rather cool stainless steel apparatus at each spot to hold a large array of breakfast and lunch condiments. Cheerful muraled walls make for an inviting atmosphere to partake of the Kelly Melt, the fourth promised "best burger in town." Dudley''s also serves peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the "Beggar''s Banquet," an appealingly simple triad of an apple, sliced cheese and homemade soup. But you also can get pâté with your fruit and cheese. At this point, I suspend all predictions about what I might next find. Which turns out to be a pretty good idea.

Unescorted Grubstaker

Around the corner, not far from the National Guard Armory in Oldtown Salinas, sits Rosita''s Armory Café, the place where, I''m told, Hullaballoo chef and co-owner Todd Fisher likes to hang with his staff after hours. Conveniently, it also adjoins Jaime''s Lounge. Although the place has been here for 20 years, I begin to get the feeling that I may be the only unescorted gringa chick to pass through lately.

Seated at a pale green counter on one of Rosita''s matching 15 pale green padded swivel stools, I order nopalitos and scrambled eggs in hopes that a regional choice might help to warm up the service. No dice. Lots of interesting authentic Mexican menu items (beef tongue in mole) here, however, and the good salsa and cool architectural features warrant a recommendation for an alternative counter encounter.

Back toward Monterey on Highway 68, Toro Café is housed in a picturesque 1930s gas station-cum-roadhouse, where longtime former busboy and waiter Jose Chavarria recently purchased the place with partner Bill Hinderscheie. Get here in the morning and this five-stool cream-colored counter is all about golf, the favorite buzz of the early crowd.

The Toro Café scene changes continually throughout the day, alternating between road crew and builders, and tourists and business people who come for the hamburger steaks and chile verde burritos as much as for the conversation.

The realization that there are as many different variations on American-style dining establishments as there are Americans that run them starts to crystallize in my brainpan.

Top of the Line: Bay Cafe waitress (and Weekly cover girl) Cathy Johnson keeps things up close and personal.

There is Kathy''s in Monterey--butcher block six-seater, home of the You-Fill-It, We-Grill-It Grilled Cheese Conglomeration and the Chuck and Cluck salad, half tuna and half chicken.

Then there''s Anthony''s in Seaside, another butcher block affair with six John Deere tractor seat stools "that fit like a glove," as Anthony himself tells it, and where the SOS (creamed beef on buttered toast) sells like hotcakes. You''ll also find lots of Reggie Jackson and Bruce Springsteen memorabilia decorating the place, and the fact that the lumpia on the menu sells about as well as the Philly steak sandwich.

The eight aqua stools at Em Le''s in Carmel have been the "provisional headquarters of early morning golfers on their way to Pebble Beach and Carmel Valley" since 1955. The vintage green Hamilton Beach blender can do three shakes at a time, and frequently does. You can still get a real ice cream soda here. Or a Stub Sandwich--two eggs, bacon, sausage, cheddar and potatoes, smack in the middle of two pieces of toast.

In Carmel Valley, there''s a one-of-a-kind genuine article, the Wagon Wheel. In 25 years, a lot of elbows have rested upon Harry Curry''s forest green Formica. Countless eggs Benedicts and three-egg ranch breakfasts have been consumed on these eight barrel-back wooden stools by cowboys, carpenters and the occasional journalist looking for a story and usually getting one. The regular gathering place of a local group known as the DOMINOS (Dirty Old Men In Need Of Sex), the Wagon Wheel''s business has been good for a quarter of a century.

At Jeffrey''s in Mid-Valley, you''ll find something altogether different than the norm. Fresh flowers, pale pink Formica and eight wooden stools meet with California countertop cuisine. The sausage is house-made, as are the apple fritters, the pasta is "capricious" (it changes every day) and the soup is "chameleon" (ditto). You also can get a latte here. On this day, one of the breakfast specials is grilled lamb and eggs, and there''s homemade Martha Washington gingerbread with lemon cream on the dessert menu, too.

You might wonder, What do these spots have in common? Well, almost everything on each menu costs well under $10. And all have regulars who sit at the same counter spot at the same time every day. But the most important ingredient that the subjects of this particular survey share turns out also to be the thing that sets them apart from the next place up the street. They all specialize in an amazing degree of Individuality. What could be more American than that? The empty stool at the counter just might be the best seat in the house