[Photographs: Todd Brock]

Kitsch is defined, at least on the giant hand-painted bottle cap behind the counter, as "something of tacky design, appearance, or content created to appeal to popular taste." It's retro and eclectic and funky, and for most of us, it just feels like home. That's certainly the vibe permeating Kitsch'n 155, a five-month-old diner in Decatur serving up homestyle classics with a big helping of mom-and-pop familiarity. Like the unpretentious style it's named after, Kitsch'n 155 will never compete with the ultra-hip, industrial-loft designer bistros popping up around town. It doesn't try to. But the simple-fare-done-right coming out of the kitchen at Kitsch'n is a welcome addition/antidote to Atlanta's increasingly fancy-pants foodie scene, with a burger, in particular, that's well worth the trip down Route 155.

For their throwback diner, Randy and Lisa Stewart couldn't have constructed a building as fitting as the uniquely-shaped shack on Clairmont Road. Built in 1969 as an Arby's, the company's famous Conestoga-wagon architecture featured a massive arch supported by slanted stone columns. The Stewarts entered and ran with that retro styling, adding chrome and Formica and red glitter vinyl... and a shocking shade of turquoise called "Bayside" that's as instant and effective a time machine as if Fonzie himself were leaning against the hood of a '57 Chevy out front.

Naturally, the menu is pleasantly basic. The everyday options include burgers, dogs, a salad, and a "grown-up grilled cheese." There's also a chalkboard filled with daily specials: This day's were a meatloaf sandwich that looked heavenly and a lemon chicken Blue Plate Special. The day's sides lineup featured Waldorf salad, broccoli-rice casserole, and collard greens mixed among more standard selections. I opted for sweet potato fries because I'm a weak, weak man who can't resist their starchy siren call. (More on the fries later.)

The cheeseburger is a double-stack of two 3.5-ounce patties—Creekstone Farms Black Angus beef—with Colby Jack melted over each patty. Randy told me his unorthodox cheese choice came from wanting "something versatile." (With a tiny kitchen, he needed one cheese he could use on everything that requires cheese.) For extra kick, he sprinkles a custom spice blend he calls Kitsch'n Seasoning onto each patty. (I'm confident I was picking up some black pepper and paprika in the mix.) It was visibly noticeable on my burger and added considerably to the overall taste.

My doneness preference never came up as I ordered, but any worries vanished as I sliced in for the cross-section shot. Despite being a smidge more done than I would have requested, this burger was juicy and flavorful throughout, with an exceptional char from the flat-top. Also noteworthy was the bun from local bakery Engleman's—soft and squishy and in good proportion to the seven ounces of beef.

Okay, the fries. The skins are left on, and they're hand-cut to be on the thick side. I don't pretend to know enough about the molecular composition of sweet potatoes to say for sure, but when you add those things to what Randy calls a "light" fry job, I think this is what you get: a fry that's a little limp when you pick it up, and a little chewy when you bite in. "Limp" and "chewy" are terrible adjectives, I know. But believe me when I say that although I was taken aback at first, I found myself addicted. They're not for everyone, but they were definitely for me.

Save room for dessert at Kitsch'n 155. Lisa herself bakes the big badass cookies on the countertop cake stand (Mary's Berry is a family recipe, but the oatmeal scotchie I had totally rocked), and she occasionally offers pie. There's also Ben & Jerry's, which she'll use to make an ice cream sandwich out of the Cookie of the Day, or turn it into a shake, malt, or a float with a retro bottled soda like A&W, Cheerwine, Sun Drop, or Red Rock.

A few local reviewers have griped about the prices. I agree; they're on the high side of what you'd expect from a neighborhood diner. Six-fifty for a superb double-stack cheeseburger is completely reasonable. But tack on fries ($2.50), a bottled soda ($2.50), and a cookie ($1.50), and my solo lunch was almost 14 bucks. Add in a tip (since there's just enough table service—like Randy coming out to check in and clean up behind you—to warrant a gratuity), and Kitsch'n 155 is not exactly a cheap trip down Memory Lane. But after the warm and welcoming hospitality, a scarf-worthy burger, and sides, desserts, and drinks that all offered just the right nostalgic touches, the only thing missing as I scooted out the door was a kiss on the forehead and a reprimand to be home before dark.

About the Author: Todd Brock lives the glamorous life of a stay-at-home freelance writer in the suburbs of Atlanta. Besides being paid to eat cheeseburgers, he's written and produced over 1,000 hours of television and recently penned Building Chicken Coops for Dummies. When he grows up, he wants to be either the starting quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys or the drummer for Hootie & the Blowfish. Or both.