By Randy Garbin

	George Barakos sits with long-time employees and seasoned waitresses Fran Phundheller and Joyce Frymeyer.

T

alking food with a real foodie rates just a notch below actual eating as a pastime for me. And why anyone but a true foodie would ever entertain the notion of operating a diner completely mystifies me. This vocation requires a passion for food, its preparation, and its presentation, and in brothers George and Nick Barakos, lucky patrons find the textbook display of those passions.

Diner purists may wince upon the sight of the Silk City. In a sense, this hopping restaurant in Stephens, Pennsylvania represents a missed opportunity to see a rare example of two classic diners married together. The Keystone State has other examples of the double-diner in Bowmanstown, Brodheadsville, and Mount Joy, but previous owners of this particular diner remodeled away most of the original features from both units. The early 50s Paramount retains half its counter and stainless back bar, while the 1957 Silk City retains only its shape and some interior stainless trim.

No matter. After thousands of miles and dozens of conversations with the folks who actually run these places, I’ve learned to temper my emotions when confronted with such situations. Most owners mean well, and do their best to create a comfortable experience for their customers while keeping a very close eye upon the bottom line. In any case, some of the most outspoken diner purists make some of the worst customers. I could lament the loss of all that glorious architectural detail, but that might prevent me from fully appreciating the experience created for me by the Barakos brothers. The pair have successfully taken a shuttered shell of a business and built it into a hot spot in this rural community. Just for that alone, diner purists should just sit down, shut up, and eat.

In a sense, the Silk City stands in the shadow of nearby Zinn’s Diner, once famous for its talking Amos statue, shoofly pie, and a name synonymous with Penn sylvania Dutch cooking. Signs for Zinn’s first appear five miles from the nearest Turnpike exit, and one stands 500 feet up the road from the Silk City. When I mention the lack of similar outdoor advertising for his diner, George Barakos shrugs. “I don’t need to do that. Ninety-five percent of my business is local.” Given the crowds he attracts, I have to wonder where he fits the other five percent.

George and Nick run a classic Greek-style operation – fast-paced, efficient, but friendly service, combined with a wide variety of dishes encompassing both local and Mediterranean traditions. But there's a refreshing twist: Everything, according to George, is homemade. This extravagant claim gives me pause, because I cast a quick glance at the tower of desserts in the glass case, and I imagine all the work involved. However, fifteen minutes of conversation with George leave me almost breathless. The guy exudes so much pure enthusiasm for his work, that I almost want to strap on an apron and charge downstairs into the bakery to help.

The two diners tucked beneath the renovations serve up the classics and a few surprises — but everything comes out fresh and made with pride. Below, George's parents in their original restaurant in Hanover, Pennsylvania.

While George takes responsibility for the desserts, Nick takes on the meat and potatoes of the menu. There are fresh soups made daily, classic comfort food, and homemade gravies. Both grew up in the diner business. Their parents, John and Pauline Barakos, own the Cross Keys Family Restaurant in New Oxford, Pennsylvania, but according to George, they had hoped for “something better” for their sons. George went to the Baltimore International Culinary School to learn the skills of a pastry chef, while Nick graduated from the school of restaurant hard knocks. But at 42 years old, happily married with a family, and looking as healthy as a horse, I’d say on first glance that George has something pretty nice. The guy radiates the pride for his accomplishments, and when the discussion turns from mundane day-to-day operational issues to the preparation of his amazing cheesecake, his eyes light up.

I confessed to George my reluctance even to try the cheesecake. Too many places get it wrong, thinking that tall, soggy, custard-like pies constitute a great cheesecake. To me, such a dessert only flags the inexperience of its baker. A proper cheesecake has a firm, almost dry consistency, and just a hint of browning on its surface.

These circumstances have certain hazards. I like George, and I’ve developed a tremendous respect for his abilities, so if his cheesecake didn’t pass this test, I’d find myself in a bind. With a piece of the plain cheesecake in front of me, I braced myself. I watched closely as my fork sliced through pale yellow substance and smiled as it met gentle but uniform resistance along its path from top to bottom. When my fork failed to strike pudding, I sighed with relief. Once in my mouth, the cheesecake melted into a loving caress around my tongue, where I allowed it to slip down my throat only after extracting every last bit of pleasure from the sinful experience.

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“The secret to a great cheesecake,” George explains, “is to bake it slow. I bake my cheesecakes for two hours on water pans. Too many places bake their cheesecakes at higher temperatures for only an hour and a half. That makes the top all nice and firm, but the middle is soggy. My cheesecakes have a light brown surface. If the top of the cheesecake is white, it’s not completely baked.”

George admits discovering all this almost by accident. He once had left a cake in the oven for too long.

George also spoke with pride of his tiramisu. “I call it ‘Greek tiramisu.’ It’s not really like the traditional Italian. I make it with” His voice seems to trail off into the distance, as I taste another swoon-worthy piece of chocolate nirvana. Uh huh. Whatever you say, George.

Too many diners on this scale seem to use their desserts more for display than for actual consumption. I’ve tried lots of desert-dry cakes, gummy fruit pies, and over-sweet pastries that sit all-too-pretty in their rotating cases. Since I don’t believe it’s better to look good than to taste good, I usually pass them by to get dessert at “real” bakery up the road. In this case, however, the Silk City gets it right from start to finish.

But back to the main dishes. This diner offers up a fine stir-fry, a finely-spiced Cajun catfish dish, and a crab-cake that can challenge anyone’s personal favorite. Rounded off with a seasoned, friendly waitstaff, the Silk City deserves your consideration as a turnpike respite or a fine finish to a day of antiquing in nearby Denver.

The Silk City Diner is located at 1640 North Reading Road/Route 272 in Stephens, Pennsylvania; Tel.: 717-335-3833. The diner is exactly two miles south of exit 286 on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Open seven days, 6 a.m. – 9 p.m., Sunday through Thursday; 6 a.m. – 10 p.m., Friday and Saturday. Handicapped accessible. Smoke-free area available.