He ate: Service and charm fuel the Sinclair Grill

The walls are jam-packed with signed celebrity photos of “old” Vegas, a la the Rat Pack. Then there’s the legend — Gordy the accordion player — who serenades diners each night. He has done this for decades. To the regulars, Gordy IS Battista’s. (Spartan fans be warned: If he asks you where you’re from and you say Michigan, he will break into the U of M fight song.)

This may be food reviewing heresy, but I use Battista’s as a way of saying that sometimes dining out is about the place, not the food.

Some 1,960 miles east of Vegas sits a little place in Webberville, a former Sinclair gas station, that serves up sass and nostalgia in quantities befitting a Vegas buffet. This is eye candy for motorheads and for those of us who remember big-finned cars when they were brand new, not relics.

The place is chock-full of moon hubcaps, gas station signs, Oldsmobile memorabilia and auto nameplates from companies that have since faded away. It’s a bit like a time machine. Remember when Marty walks into the soda fountain in “Back to the Future?” Welcome to the Sinclair Grill.

But with all due respect to the nostalgic, car-centric decor, the main attraction of the Sinclair Grill is Heather.

We had barely stepped through the door and spied our breakfast companions, Lesand Michele, when our server intervened with a terse “You’re late.”

Thus spoke Heather. That she did it with a twinkle in her eye reduced me to a schoolboy giggle. A man likes to be teased, don’t you know?

OK, so we were a bit late. Guess I should have driven my turbo-charged, 20-cylinder muscle car instead of my pokey, 8-year-old Ford Escape.

Perusing the menu, we inquired about the different kinds of toast. Heather replied she liked them all “except the raisin toast, which isn’t that good.” She said this just as the boss walked by. He shot her a look. We chuckled.

This caused me to think. Doesn’t the restaurant world need more server honesty? Less smarminess and more of a “you’re-not-buying-a-Ferrari-you’rejust-ordering-breakfast” attitude? Am I the only one who’s tired of the “Hi, I’m Constance and I’ll be your server today” line? Constance, who is programmed to be bubbly and positive. Constance, who insists most everything on the menu is “The best!!!” The three exclamation points in her voice are included with your meal.

I’ll take a double shot of Heather’s sass-presso any day.

All right, let’s eat. I had the reuben omelette ($8.49), which came with American fries. The homecooked corned beef was tasty and tender, and the sauerkraut made it more Reubenesque. Sadly, the drizzle of Thousand Island dressing undercut the other flavors. Judy’s country omelet ($7.99) had sausage, onions and hash browns tucked inside the omelet, which was then topped with sausage gravy. She gave it a B . That’s being generous.

We fared better the next time, for lunch. I ordered the olive burger ($6.99) with house-made olive sauce. The burger was thick, juicy and smothered in a creamy sauce packed with tangy olive chunks. A winner.

Judy had the BLT hot dog ($4.49), a quarterpound all-beef dog with typical BLT fixings. Not a home run, but a solid double. Incidentally, the grill offers 13 hot dog incarnations.

On our third visit, we met Heather in the parking lot. She was running to the liquor store. They were out of vodka. She didn’t mention that I was late — again.

I opted for a traditional Detroit Coney dog, the Motor City Coney ($2.99). It was first-rate. The dog had a good crunch, and the onion-laced Coney sauce was on par with the famed Coney joints in downtown Detroit.

Someone took great care in decorating the place. The 1950s vibe feels authentic. There are checkered tablecloths and sparkling, chrome-plated counter stools. It’s an odd hybrid. You can have a Bloody Mary for brunch (but not before noon) and finish your meal with a generous scoop of praline pecan ($2.50). I partook of both. Soda fountain meets Joe’s Bar.

Food-wise, this is a no-frills grill. No farm-to-table boasts (though the maple syrup is locally made). No pushing the culinary envelope. Fine by me. Really, must every restaurant meal be a journey toward culinary nirvana?

Sometimes you can get your fill by soaking up the sights and sass. Consider the menu as an add-on.