On the Road with the Creator of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives

I was on the phone late on a Thursday in my dark basement office trying to drum up business. I’d left network news to open a TV production company but couldn’t land any clients. Now I was pitching show ideas to an executive from the Food Network and getting nowhere—until she asked, “Have you got anything about diners?” “Absolutely,” I replied. I’m developing a show called Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” and told her all about it. She perked up, asked for a written proposal by Monday. Which was great. Except I was not developing a program called Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. I had just pulled the name, and concept, out of thin air. I spent the weekend calling restaurant owners all across the country, and out of that ad-lib came the phenomenon that is Triple-D. 

Far more than a food show, Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives encapsulated what I’ve learned in decades of travel—here at home and around the world: there is no better way to learn about a country, a culture, a people, or their history, than through their food.  

On Diners, we explored our American melting pot history through an abundance of dishes brought here from someplace else, from tortellini to tortillas, bratwurst to bagels, goulash to ganache. We celebrated the American work ethic through the stories of mom-n-pop restaurateurs who built something from nothing and passed it on to their kids. We saw strangers become friends while sitting side by side at coffee shop counters. 

And this is far more than an American story. Diners was actually born of my experiences exploring other cultures through food while travelling the world as a journalist for NBC News. Everywhere I went throughout Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, the food told a story. I strongly recommend that anyone travelling anywhere should enthusiastically seek out such stories. 

In Paris, initially irked when local crews would insist on a long midday break for a sit-down lunch, I came to appreciate the French attitude toward work-life balance. In Strasbourg in eastern France, I discovered choucroute, a plate of sauerkraut topped with sausage or pork. That Germanic dish told the history of the region, where control shifted back and forth between Germany and France for centuries. Enjoying a mezze—shared plates in Greece—reflected a society that prizes community. As the Greek philosopher Epicurus wrote, “We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink, for dining alone is leading the life of a lion or wolf.” I learned that the wild boar ragu I enjoyed in Tuscany was a reflection of the region’s long history of poverty—eating required hunting and the boar were plentiful. 

My memories of place are inextricably linked to memories of food. 

After years of covering the Cold War, I walked through the Berlin Wall the night it first opened in 1989. Remembering that triggers my fondest memory of East Berlin—enjoying a weisswurst sausage with a hard roll and mustard from a street vendor under the elevated train. 

Remembering an interview with Polish dissident turned President Lech Walesa, my sense memory is the meal I enjoyed with my crew afterwards, duck in a speckled pot (like my grandmother’s) at a humble restaurant near the Gdansk airport. And as vivid as the memory of the food is the memory of dining with my friends. 

Perhaps my most important takeaway from years on the road is the power of the meal to break barriers and foster connections. And so, perhaps my favourite memory was an evening in a dive bar in Moscow. After several shots of vodka, I found myself talking (gesturing, given my limited Russian) with another patron, an Indigenous Siberian visiting the big city for the first time. Fearful of what he would find, he had brought his own provisions. He opened his flimsy, plastic, Soviet-made briefcase to reveal that it was filled with salted, dried fish. We shared some. What language barrier?