Amy's Diner (est. May, 1997) is a long-running conversation and movable feast for people of taste, which recurs every Monday evening. The food is queer; the conversation is good. Or vice versa. Yes, it's an old joke.

The diner is vegetarian, with occasional excursions into piscine proteinoids, and due to the tastes of the Head Chef stays far away from vegan (cheese is common, other dairy nearly so, and eggs occasional). Random attempts to produce fat-free food have tended to founder on the rocks of taste-free-ness. Allergies and particularities of various regulars are, on the other hand, catered to. At least one notable Diner dinner has been kosher (courtesy the dearling Analemma). The location is usually at the house of the management, but has been relocated with general acclaim from time to time. Assistant cooks are not actually uncommon, but find that they have to put up with the uncertain temper of the Head Chef, who is not most notable for her calmness in the face of minor kitchen catastrophes. On at least three occasions, the arrival of diners on the site of a disaster in progress has required the intervention of actual paid, professional food specialists (restaraunteurs, in other words ... just give it up and go out to eat, you know? Typically on Our Kitchen Incompetent's tab, since she's responsible).

Conversation tends to range widely, depending in large part on the interests of the current set of regulars (as well as whatever candidate regulars have wandered into this obscure alternate universe). A common digression is geeking out, since the Head Chef and several of the regulars (at any given time) are geeks. The bio-geeks sometimes go off on a riff as well. There is also a strong current of alternative politics (from the green to the libertarian to the truly outré). Lots of teasing; daily triumphs and tragedies are basic fare. The diner's been instrumental in at least a couple of romances (sigh—Our Kitchen Hermit seems rarely involved).

Regulars have a standing invitation, and are notified of cancellations. Not-yet-regulars get invitations (from any current regular, generally with notice to the chef, who always cooks for an army but nonetheless worries about running out). Cancellations are fairly infrequent, but do occur, and seem to happen in cycles (when the universe overwhelms Our Kitchen Heroine, and the management can't pry her claws out of the ceiling). Recent advances in computer technology (okay, that's a lie; recent advances in computer geekishness, okay?) have allowed the diners to be addressed en masse, through the remarkable innovation of an electronic mailing list. Who'd have thought of such a thing? (see link in contents, above, and below on each page)