As its name might suggest, the Fountain on Locust is a throwback to the days of soda fountains and lunch counters, of phosphates and ice-cream floats. If that doesn't offer enough opportunities for nostalgia, the restaurant occupies the former Stutz showroom along what was once Locust Street's automotive row.
I had to Google "Stutz." The only soda jerk I've ever seen is in a Norman Rockwell painting, and the ice-cream sundaes of my childhood were scooped out of industrial tubs in fluorescent-lighted Baskin-Robbins by pimpled and mulleted teenagers too busy plotting how to sneak beer into the Crüe concert to realize I'd asked for extra hot fudge, no whipped cream.
This week I pay to the visit to the Fountain on Locust, Midtown's new(ish) old(ish) spot. Check back here tomorrow to see what I think.