10:00PM each night. Herbie Abrams ran the place; having inherited a shoe store from his parents and forced to close it due to a lack of tact. Unlike his father, Herbie would admonish women trying to fit a size 9 into a size 6... purely for reasons of pride.
Herbie's All-Nighter might have been the most perfect restaurant to ever have graced the Classic City. It was equal parts greasy spoon and shock arthouse. The jukebox would play Booker T's "Green Onions" every third song and greet the drunks streaming in from bars over on Clayton Street. Rising above the jukebox would be Herbie's steady stream of profanity-laden observations about the customers gracing the door. Boys in pink shirts were automatically qualified as 'queers' and girls - in any state of dress - were 'sluts'.
Just 25 or 30 years ago, young kids could not only take any offending statement... they eagerly sought it out at Herbie's All-Nighter. To be hazed by Herbie was a badge of honor.
If you sat at the counter, you got full-Herbie. He scared the crap out of freshmen; and, knew many of the upperclassmen by name. If you were a regular, you heard Herbie's entire portfolio of earthy jokes. No more than five or six, you could judge your sobriety by how funny they sounded the umpteenth time around. My favorite was about the girl with no arms or legs sitting on the seashore.
The food was mediocre. The service was plain awful. I doubt Herbie's ever passed a Health Department inspection with flying colors. But, for a time years ago, it was the place to be.
I think he died in 2012 or so. Probably just as well. Someone would get pissed off and sue him these days.
Herbie's All-Nighter might have been the most perfect restaurant to ever have graced the Classic City. It was equal parts greasy spoon and shock arthouse. The jukebox would play Booker T's "Green Onions" every third song and greet the drunks streaming in from bars over on Clayton Street. Rising above the jukebox would be Herbie's steady stream of profanity-laden observations about the customers gracing the door. Boys in pink shirts were automatically qualified as 'queers' and girls - in any state of dress - were 'sluts'.
Just 25 or 30 years ago, young kids could not only take any offending statement... they eagerly sought it out at Herbie's All-Nighter. To be hazed by Herbie was a badge of honor.
If you sat at the counter, you got full-Herbie. He scared the crap out of freshmen; and, knew many of the upperclassmen by name. If you were a regular, you heard Herbie's entire portfolio of earthy jokes. No more than five or six, you could judge your sobriety by how funny they sounded the umpteenth time around. My favorite was about the girl with no arms or legs sitting on the seashore.
The food was mediocre. The service was plain awful. I doubt Herbie's ever passed a Health Department inspection with flying colors. But, for a time years ago, it was the place to be.
I think he died in 2012 or so. Probably just as well. Someone would get pissed off and sue him these days.
