Dean’s Diner

I stress, this is just my experience, so bare with me and take my following review with a pinch of salt (which sadly would probably be more seasoning than in their burger patties)
I give it 2 stars simply because one of the two waitress smiled at us and made a good attempted at small talk whilst waiting for the card machine to process my «recoiling at the price of the bill» debit card payment, and the posh scruffy kid next to me made me chuckle with his salty egg-​and-​fork microwave cooking techniques (yes, fork+Microwave) — he was a regular by the sounds of it, so they must have «some spark in the joint»… Sadly I never saw it.
It started with me nearly having to explain to an «American style diner» what «Having it naked» means (and incase you don’t know — it’s having it without the bun).
Burger meat was flavourless and bland, the «so called» monterey cheese was actually a slice of regular processed cheddar, they got my milkshake wrong, the chef didn’t «double up» my burger (as ordered) — as a consequence one «patty» was left to go cold whilst he cooked the other one, nor did he cook our chips and then argued with the waitress about us NOT ordering chips and waving our ticket about, until the manager turned up and made him read the ticket — to which he clumped a «smaller than McDonalds ‘small fries’» hand full (I stress the word «full» being a heavily exaggerated and strong word in this context) of poorly excused French fries in a large basket and flopped a teaspoon of that MontCheddary cheese sauce.
The fresh lettuce was warm and wilted. And there was more onion hiding under the slice of MontCheddery than a half price onion sale at G’send market.
the lighting was at that annoying shade of red… The type of red where you can’t quite tell if your meat is actually cooked or just cold through the sorrow of waiting for his mate to turn up well done.
When I asked for the bill, the waitress wondered off to the till, then back… Straight past me, dealt with another table then back to the till and then I got my bill.
For what we got on our plate, the bill was an appalling insult to my culinary deprived stomach. For example — £5 for our angry chief spit-​full of poorly demented fries slightly shown what cheese smells like.
I fatally un-​enjoyed the whole experience.