This is not a restaurant review. This is not a nostalgically-charged historical feature. This is not a sales pitch, endorsement, or celebration.

There are simply no words to describe the Goody Goody Diner, and so each category will probably make its way in here. One doesn’t find too many a feel-good place these days, after all.

In this day and age, there isn’t a lot of time to find a worthwhile place to sit down and relax. Which is why, of course, one might refer to the diner as a hidden gem of St. Louis.

Family-owned and proud of it, the place exudes a homey atmosphere reminiscent of the diners of eras long past. That feel is right—the diner started as an A&W root beer stand in the 1930’s. It evolved into a diner, complete with a carhop service, later on, and current owner Richard Connelly’s father bought it in 1954. The rest, as they say, is the proverbial history.

“I was 13 years old when I started as a carhop at the diner,” Connelly said. “I’ll be 70 in August. I’ve been with the diner for 57 years, and it’s gone from being a hamburger-and-milkshake place to a full diner menu.”

Which is why I was able to drop by for breakfast.

The place wasn’t too crowded when I walked in, family in tow, an early Sunday morning. The diner is rather open. Peek around the bar and you can catch Connelly cooking along with his employees, just as his father did before him.

There’s a newer portion of the diner that was built in the summer of 1990, which blends right in with the original floor plan. By no means is the Goody Goody shabby, nor is it of the upscale five-star variety. It resides in a comfortable medium that has patrons driving in from miles and miles around, just to get a taste of the old diner experience.

Our waitress and diner manager, Chris VanDike, cheerfully poured coffee and took our orders that took a record time to arrive. She has been doing so for the past 20 years as of this month.

“I started with my brother in ’67,” VanDike said. “Six of my eight siblings have all worked here.”

Sticking around is what the Goody Goody does best, it seems. Not only have the Connellys and their two managers kept with the business for a respectable amount of time, the diner itself stuck with its original location.

“We’re one of the few white businesses that stayed,” Connelly says. “The others fled the area in the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s. The community has been so supportive. They’ve taken us into their hearts.”

That explained the warm atmosphere. Most of the customers, Connelly added, were regulars who came mostly every day, all of whom he knows by name.

As he does with the kitchen, Connelly immerses himself in the diner, gets to know the patronage, and converses freely with them. He pours coffee alongside his workers and puts in every minute he can.

I had prepared to ask for the manager, and then from there ask to speak with the owner. Instead, I found him refilling a customer’s coffee mug, which was a rather pleasant surprise.

The diner, however, wouldn’t be able to make good on its food and hospitality if it weren’t for the dedication of the staff as well. Combined with the dedicated customers, the Goody Goody is a wonderful place to duck in on a cold morning.

“The quality of my staff and customers puts a smile on my face,” Connelly said.

That said, watch out for the wait. The Goody Goody fills up quickly, and for good reason. It’s a gold-mine for comfort breakfast foods, from the classic pancakes and eggs to chicken-and-waffle platters, if fried chicken in the morning happens to be your thing. I decided to go á la carte with a biscuit with gravy and a small bowl of cheese grits.

I was not disappointed. Neither, VanDike told me, was Al Gore, when he dropped in.

“I served him his coffee,” she said. “Cedric the Entertainer was here, too. We get a lot of people here that you wouldn’t expect.”

These days, the Goody Goody hums along on its own rhythm, one that is genuinely happy to see you. There’s something in itself you don’t see too often. It is every inch the opposite of the usual impersonal chain restaurant, and worth the drive up north.

“When I was younger, I looked farther,” Connelly said. “But now that I’m older”—he gestured to the wall beside him—“I’m closer to my end. The end is this wall. Everything I’ve built, my business—it’s not about expanding. I’m not selling. I’m going to work as long as I can.”

When I went to pick up the tab, I was surprised to hear VanDike smilingly inform me that Connelly had taken care of it.

“He said not to worry about it,” she told me.

And so, flabbergasted, I didn’t. It is impossible to worry while under the Goody Goody’s roof. Take a seat. Sit down. You’ll be pleasantly surprised at what you find, taste, and see.