Munch is a social butterfly, it's true, but even those who enjoy the company of others -- nay, demand it, by the sheer magnetism of their personalities (or by the sheer gravity of their abdomens) -- need to step away from the office every once in a while, alone, and go to a place where they can have a leisurely lunch and read the newspaper and be surrounded by silent strangers and ponder when that next raise will come (over/under: April 2012).

For Munch, that place is The Smithfield Cafe. Can you believe Munch has never written about it before? It's been there for 75 years! With the same wallpaper, I'm pretty sure. We'd just assumed that Munch had given TSC the once over, but having checked the files back to 1996 (Munch, as you can imagine, keeps meticulous files), we've been made aware of this grievous oversight and now aim to correct it.

The Smithfield Cafe is at 337 Smithfield St., Downtown, closed Sundays. Call 412-281-5452. Want to be an FOM? Visit Munch at myspace.com/munch_pg.

If you've never been here -- we're thinking specifically of the Pita Pit/Au Bon Pain crowd -- the skinny on The Smithfield Cafe is that, in the early 1930s, James J. Petrolias borrowed $1,200 (take that, Great Depression!) and opened a spot where a hot roast beef sandwich with gravy and fries set you back 25 cents, prime rib 50 cents and draft beers a nickel. The prices have gone up, but the cafe itself seems stuck in a time warp, a random collision of furnishings and faded colors -- maroon bar stools, yellow walls, wood paneling, red drop-down ceiling, green floor tiles.

Nothing wrong with it, though. Sometimes you want to eat in someplace sleek and refined, other times in a set piece of Pittsburgh nostalgia. And Munch, despite our sushi affection, is an old soul.

Nostalgia is great, but times change and with them tastes. Bless the folks' precious little hearts, they're trying to be health-conscious here. They really are. Problem is, a health-conscious menu isn't an easy marriage with traditional Pittsburgh cafe cuisine. They have a "lo-carb" breakfast item -- two eggs, two strips of bacon and two sausage links ($4.20), and yes, Munch supposes that's technically low-carb, even if it is high in cholesterol, sodium, fat and pig byproducts. On a recent trip, the kitchen featured a "lo-carb" hamburger for lunch -- a burger, smothered in goodies, minus the bun. Munch didn't have the heart to tell them that low-carb menus went out with Dr. Atkins himself, who died in 2003, having choked to death on a Primanti sandwich. True story!

The Cafe hunkers across three storefronts -- the bar is on the far right, dining room in the middle, deli and diner counter on the far left. Munch slumped onto a diner stool, summoned a waitress and inquired, "What's good today?" "The special, hon," the special being beef and macaroni in a red sauce.

Munch loves being called hon. The special it is. But, wait, broiled Virginia spot (a type of fish) is on the menu, too. Can't find spot ($8.25) just anywhere.

Better order both, right? The spot was sweet, buttery and lemony; the macaroni-and-beef, standard. If your mom ever made it for you, you'll know exactly what to expect.

On another visit, Munch tried the Cobb salad ($8.75), Pittsburgh-sized -- they bring it out in a big wooden bowl and drop it in front of you and dare you to finish it. Munch did so. No reinventing the wheel here, just a hungry-man portion of iceberg lettuce, tomato, radish, sliced boiled egg, bacon and bleu cheese crumbles. Next time, Munch will try the Devonshire sandwich ($7.95), still on the menu after all these years.

Still on Smithfield Street after all these years.