On any given workday afternoon, plenty of Downtown workers meet and munch at trendy see-and-be-seen urban bistros, upscale chain restaurants and sunny cafes. But for a certain loyal lunch bunch, chic menus and frou-frou venues hold little appeal. What lures them instead: cheap, simple eats, served up in a nobody-cares-who's-here setting.

These savvy diners jump in their cars and go west to Workingman's Friend, a glass-block-and-brick-fronted eatery that has been a Belmont Avenue staple since the early 1900s.

And in fact, time seems to stand still inside the restaurant's walls. A silver-trimmed bar runs the length of the south wall beneath neon Budweiser signs, and tightly packed tables cram black-and-white checked floors. A working cigarette machine sells packs to the crowds, who can puff in peace thanks to the 21-and-older admittance policy.

Full house

This place has gained a cult-like following among diner-loving foodies, who love to tell the story of how original owner Louis Stamatkin opened the doors to his new lunch spot in 1918. Plenty of those Workingman's Friend groupies were in attendance on the weekday that my husband and I dropped in for a 1 p.m. lunch. Nearly every table was full, and the single large dining room buzzed with noisy conversation from a diverse group: guys in business suits and guys in hardhats, senior couples and groups of friends, even a few ladies mixed in for good measure.

You seat yourself, so we grabbed the single empty table we could find and peered across the room at the menu board hanging above the bar. It listed a number of sandwich offerings -- chicken, subs, a tenderloin -- but one look around told us what rules the kitchen here. Plate after well-worn-white-china plate of double cheeseburgers and onion rings were being hustled to tables by hard-working servers.

Indeed, the double cheeseburger-onion ring combo is legendary. But since I was nursing a summer cold, I doubted my reduced appetite could handle a pair of patties, so I ordered my own "lite" version -- a single cheeseburger with everything ($3.50) and a side of those beer-battered rings ($2.75).

My appetite miraculously returned upon arrival of the crispy-edged, perfectly cooked, thin-but-not-too-thin burger, topped with shredded lettuce, tomato and onion slices and mayonnaise. I added ketchup and mustard from the bottles delivered to our table and dug in.

The juicy patty lived up to its rep. I devoured every bite, along with the super-crispy, surprisingly not-very-greasy onion rings. None of that standard-issue, straight-from-a-frozen-box taste to these rings; like the burger, they were fresh, hot and simply presented -- no fancy-schmancy plating necessary.

Adventures in eating

Pete, continuing a recent series of adventurous food choices, ordered a braunschweiger sandwich ($3.25), something he has never, in our 15-plus-year relationship, consumed in my presence. The Hormel Foods online dictionary describes this liver-based goodie as "one of the most popular liverwurst sausages," and for some reason, it seems to pop up at unassuming, out-of-the-way places in town. Pete ordered it plain and on rye, adding mustard at the table, and despite my skepticism, declared "Yum" after his first bite.

He also added a bowl of bean soup ($2.25) to his order. The piping-hot, medium-thick broth was spiced with salt and pepper and had smoky overtones thanks to diced ham bits that accompanied the namesake legumes. Diced onions scattered on top added a tangy touch.

As we ate, we noticed that the place clears out fast after the lunch hour passes. By the time we exited well after 1:30, the side street and formerly packed parking area (the gravel, grass and dirt space is a bit informal for the title of "lot") were nearly devoid of cars. So if you prefer a more orderly experience, that's the time to go -- especially if you like chatting with your server, who will be pleasant but far too busy to linger during the noon rush.

But really, the bustling atmosphere and people-watching are half the fun. So the next time you're tempted to join the dress-to-impress crowd at one of Downtown's hot spots, break away to Workingman's Friend instead. You won't run up your Platinum Visa (cash only is accepted) or break your budget (we walked out for $15.40, including Diet Cokes and tax). And you'll feel way more savvy than your trend-tied pals.

-- By Julie Cope-Saetre / INtake Correspondent, 07/26/2007