Bob & Edith’s offers, depending on how you count them, five or six different steak-and-egg combinations, in addition to breakfast platters that include turkey, bologna, and half-smokes. Such a wealth of wacky options allows you to never order the same thing twice, but it’s really designed to let you order the same dish forever. (I like the gravy-splattered country-fried steak and eggs.) The magic of cholesterol is such, though, that it’s harder to explain the autographed Cowboys poster on the wall than to find a clunker on the menu—the sausage is superb, as is the toast and what might be the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted. And the griddled burger—get it with mayo—will necessitate some fine-tuning of your qualms about the industrial food chain. Across Columbia Pike, a crane looms over some new development, a not-so-gentle reminder that de-skeezing Columbia Pike is next on Arlington’s to-do list. That process that may have slowed down thanks to the crappy economy, but you have to wonder what its inevitability means for Bob & Edith’s. Not that the restaurant could feasibly be moved without Superfund involvement—40 years of serving up grease may have cemented the diner in place, physically as well as in the plaque-clogged hearts of late-night carousers soaking up the poison, the post-Mass crowd catching up with friends, or the guy sitting alone at a booth, reading the paper and drinking an ever-refilled cup of joe.