Walking into the tiny, shingled storefront squeezed between two buildings in Dinkytown,you’re met with that unmistakable diner smell—butter, bacon, griddle grease. Fourteen coveted stools line the counter. To the left of the entrance, a section of the wall shows unusual wear.

Owner Alison Kirwin calls it the “butthole” wall. More than seven decades of customers waiting their turn in the 10-foot-wide diner have literally left their mark—propping against it, scooting down as the line moves. Frances McDormand has been here. So have the Coen Brothers, John C. Reilly, and countless Gopher athletes.

Since Al Bergstrom bought the place in 1950, Dinkytown has transformed from a functional neighborhood into “basically a big food court,” Kirwin says, who misses having a hardware store nearby. Al’s has outlasted it all. And if you’re afraid it’s changed over the years—don’t worry. It hasn’t.

Steward, not owner

Kirwin first walked into Al’s as a University of Minnesota dance major in 1994, requesting change for a parking meter. Two years later, she took her first shift. Between performing and later teaching at Ragamala Dance Company, landscaping gigs, and other endeavors, Al’s has been part of her adult life for nearly 30 years: She even met her husband there. Kirwin became the co-owner in 2016 and then the sole owner in 2019.

“Al’s has always been a comfortable place,” says Kirwin, who was a few classes shy of graduating from the U. “There’s plenty of freedom to be who you are.”

Kirwin bristles a bit at the word “owner.” Standing behind the counter, she points to pictures on the wall: the original Al, the owners who followed, regulars who’ve passed away.

“I’m more of a steward,” she says, arriving for her shifts a half-hour before the 6 a.m. opening (8:30 on Sunday). “It’s my responsibility to keep it going.”

She remembers holding babies passed across the counter who now bring their own kids to Al’s. Third-generation customers come for favorites including the José egg dish and Wally Blues pancakes. The diner’s 2004 James Beard Award hangs by the register, coated in grease like everything else.

The most challenging time running Al’s came during the Covid-19 pandemic. Kirwin had fully taken over just months before the shutdown. The diner stayed closed for more than a year. They tried takeout and meal kits, but neither continued once restrictions lifted. Small ceramic tiles honoring donors who gave at least $500 to help keep Al’s afloat still hang on the wall.

“It’s one of those things that teaches you that you have to change your mentality about things and figure it out,” she says. “It’s like, OK, I’ve got this—now what can I do?”

One of the last holdouts

While Dinkytown has undergone drastic changes, Al’s hasn’t. That’s by choice.

“This whole place is like a big game of Tetris,” Kirwin says as she looks around her cozy surroundings. “Everything has a spot. Everything has to fall in place at the right time. There are some things I suppose you could change to make it better, but I don’t know why. It’s OK just to be this way.”

It’s cash only. Behind the counter are dozens of yellow cards—prepaid tabs that are hand-tallied until the money runs out. The pottery is custom made, much of it by the late Peter Leach, whose fingerprints are pressed into the bottom of each piece. When the pay phone was removed years ago, a customer hung a replica poster in the same spot so nothing would be missing.

“People expect us to be a certain thing, so we try to maintain that,” Kirwin says.

Al’s regulars won’t let anything slide. Kirwin once replaced a grease-covered table that had been painted over numerous times. Customers noticed immediately.

“You got rid of that? I would have bought that,” one told her.

She smiles. “People are really attached to some of the things around here, not just what’s on the menu.”

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