Robin Garr's LOUISVILLE Restaurant Reviews

*** Genny's Diner
2223 Frankfort Ave.
(502) 893-0923
What's the difference between Genny's Diner and a saloon?

You can take the kids to Genny's.

Well, that, and better still, you can actually count on getting a pretty darn good meal at Genny's, provided that you set your expectations for hearty, filling and well-prepared diner food without gourmet touches or culinary frippery.

We're talking about serious meat-and-potatoes food here, heavy on the frying: Remember, this is the place that invented the frickled pickle chip, a crunchy dill-pickle slice lightly coated with egg-batter and deep-fried in oil. (We couldn't help but notice, off to the north side of Genny's little white building in Clifton, an oblong black vessel the size of a Volkswagen, devoted to the disposal of used cooking oil. It appeared to be in regular use.)

All kidding aside, food is clearly not just an afterthought at Genny's, and that alone separates it from your run-of-the-mill neighborhood tavern.

Enter Genny's dark, cozy interior and the first thing you'll see is a large bar, where the gentleman presiding will greet you with a friendly wave and direct you to one of the many sturdy tables draped in green. The menu is straightforward, featuring mostly burgers, breakfast fare and sandwiches. Take special note of the Sweet Daddy Platter ($9.50 with fries, $9 for the burger alone), a trademark entree that features a stunning 1 1/4 pound of ground beef formed into a triple-deck hamburger that easily qualifies as the largest in town.

We passed on that option but ended up eating just about as much food. A sampler appetizer platter ($6) included a large mound of the aforementioned frickled pickle chips (don't knock 'em if you haven't tried them, as they're actually moderately addictive, crisp-fried bites with a sharp sweet-sour tang from the pickle within) along with perfectly prepared fried green tomatoes and a half-dozen Buffalo-style chicken wings in the classic traditional style, sizzling with butter and Tabasco.

A grilled-cheese sandwich ($1.75, one of the best cheap lunch bargains in town) was a nostalgic evocation of childhood: White bread and melted American cheese, appropriately greasy from the grill and delicious.

A platter of fried chicken livers ($6.75) continued the march of cholesterol without missing a beat: Breaded and fried, heavy and deeply flavorful, a single order must have contained nearly a pound, far too much for any sane person (or two) to consume at a sitting.

With a moist and fresh slice of German's chocolate cake ($2) to carry out for later, our lunch for two - so filling that we later skipped dinner - came to a little under $20 plus tip. $