Patrick Mahomes bought the tiny diner that let him eat on credit in college — but what he turned it into now feeds 120 homeless people every day…

In a weathered corner of Kansas City, where the hum of traffic blended with the rustle of leaves, Elena’s Diner stood as a relic of warmth and resilience. Fifteen years ago, when Patrick Mahomes was a broke college kid with big dreams and an empty wallet, the diner’s owner, Elena—a kind-hearted Mexican woman with a laugh like a summer breeze—let him eat on credit for two years. Her tacos and tamales, served with a side of encouragement, fueled him through late-night study sessions and early practices. “Pay me when you’re a star,” she’d tease, waving off his IOUs.

Now, as an NFL icon, Patrick learned that Elena was closing the diner. Its tables were worn, and unpaid rent threatened to silence the kitchen that had once kept him going. What Patrick did next—buying the place and transforming it—would feed 120 homeless people every day and leave a community in awe.

Patrick hadn’t forgotten Elena’s kindness, a memory that grounded him amid Super Bowl lights and roaring crowds. When a teammate mentioned the diner’s faded “For Sale” sign, Patrick acted fast. He tracked down Elena, now sixty-three, living in a small apartment, her spirit dimmed by the diner’s looming closure. Without fanfare, he bought the property outright, covering back rent and debts, and asked to meet her at the diner. “I’ve got an idea,” he told her over the phone, his voice warm but cryptic.

On a quiet November morning, Patrick stood outside the diner, its neon sign flickering but still proud. Elena arrived, eyes wary but curious, clutching a shawl against the chill. “Patrick Mahomes, what are you up to?” she asked, half-laughing, as he unlocked the door. Inside, the diner was as she’d left it—checkered floors, vinyl booths, the faint smell of spices—but something felt different. Patrick handed her a set of keys and a folder. “This place is yours again,” he said. “But we’re doing something new.”

The folder outlined his vision: Elena’s Diner would become “Elena’s Kitchen,” a community hub serving free lunches to 120 homeless people daily. Patrick had funded renovations—new stoves, a larger prep area, and a cozy dining space—while keeping the diner’s soul intact. He’d partnered with a local nonprofit to manage logistics, ensuring fresh ingredients and volunteers. But the heart of the plan was Elena herself. “I want you to cook again,” he said, his eyes steady. “Your food’s always been home for me. Let’s make it home for them.”

Elena’s hands trembled as she flipped through the folder, tears spilling onto the pages. “Why me?” she whispered. Patrick grinned, echoing her old tease. “Because you’re a star, Elena.” He’d also set up a fund to cover her salary and the diner’s costs for years, ensuring she could cook without worry. But there was more—a wall in the dining area, repainted and ready for a mural, with a small plaque that read: “Elena’s Kitchen: Where Kindness Feeds Us All.”

The first lunch service was a week later. Elena, in her familiar apron, stood at the stove, stirring pots of pozole and frying empanadas, her face glowing with purpose. Patrick was there, sleeves rolled up, serving plates alongside volunteers, many of whom were former customers who’d heard the story. The doors opened at noon, and 120 people—men, women, families—filed in, some hesitant, others with weary gratitude. They sat at the booths, the same ones where Patrick once scarfed tacos, now eating meals that warmed their hands and hearts. A man named Carl, who’d slept under a nearby bridge for months, took a bite of Elena’s mole and closed his eyes. “Tastes like my mom’s,” he murmured, his voice thick.

Word spread quietly, as Patrick wanted—no press, no cameras, just a community coming together. Elena’s Kitchen became a daily ritual, serving not just food but dignity. Volunteers, including Chiefs teammates, rotated shifts, and local businesses donated supplies. Elena, once on the brink of losing everything, found herself at the center of something bigger, her laughter filling the diner again. She added her own touch: a “memory board” where guests could pin notes of thanks or stories. One read, “First hot meal in weeks. I’m not invisible here.”

One evening, after the last guest left, Elena pulled Patrick aside. “You didn’t just save my diner,” she said, her eyes shining. “You gave me a reason to keep going.” She handed him a small, foil-wrapped taco, just like the ones he’d eaten in college. “On the house,” she said with a wink. Patrick laughed, but his throat tightened as he took a bite, the flavors pulling him back to that broke kid with a tab he could never repay—until now.

The real surprise came months later, when Elena invited Patrick to a small gathering at the diner. The 120 daily guests, along with volunteers, had pooled their efforts to create a gift: a hand-stitched quilt, each square embroidered with a name or a memory from Elena’s Kitchen. Carl’s square had a tiny bridge; a child’s had a heart. At the center was a patch with Patrick’s number 15, surrounded by the words “Kindness Feeds.” Elena presented it, her voice breaking. “This is from all of us,” she said. The room erupted in applause, and Patrick, for once speechless, hugged her tightly, the quilt draped over his shoulder.

Elena’s Kitchen became a Kansas City beacon, its lights glowing long after lunch ended. The mural, painted by a local artist, depicted hands sharing food under a vibrant sun, with Elena’s silhouette at its heart. Patrick visited often, sometimes serving, sometimes just eating with the guests, listening to their stories. The diner, once a lifeline for a college kid, now fed 120 souls daily, each meal a reminder of a debt repaid not with money, but with love.

In the quiet of those nights, Patrick would drive by, seeing the diner’s glow against the dark. He thought of Elena’s smile, the guests’ gratitude, the quilt on his couch. Her kindness had been a seed, planted in a pair of tacos and a trusting smile, and he’d grown it into a harvest that fed a community. Kansas City whispered the story—not of a star, but of a woman and a diner that became a home, where 120 people a day found not just food, but a place to belong.

We tried Patrick Mahomes’ cheat meal in college. It was ‘legendary’

This is a dispatch from our Red Kingdom Road Trip. We’re connecting with Chiefs fans across the country ahead of the Super Bowl — share your story with us using this form. Read more from our journey to Las Vegas for the Super Bowl here on KansasCity.com, in our newsletters, or on The Star’s Instagram.

As our Red Kingdom Road Trip to Super Bowl LVIII in Las Vegas made its stop in Lubbock, Texas, home of Texas Tech University where Patrick Mahomes played college ball, we wondered: What was Mahomes’ favorite place to eat when he was in school?

Sure enough, Mahomes told ESPN what his favorite local restaurant was back in 2016: Spanky’s, a beloved hole-in-the-wall where everything’s fried, including his favorite order, their famous fried cheese.

Or as the Kansas City Chiefs’ star QB put it, their “legendary” fried cheese, which comes 6 for $10.50.

“The fried cheese has always been one of our staples,” owner Lisa West said. “And it’s exactly the same” as it was when the restaurant opened 42 years ago, right across the street from Texas Tech’s main campus.

“We’ve grown a lot through the years because we are such a Lubbock landmark. We’ve had lots of followers from across different generations come, even grandchildren now.”

Mahomes told ESPN then that he couldn’t eat fried foods often, but when he did, it was always Spanky’s.

The staff came to recognize him, too, West said. She said he liked to sit upstairs next to the window and look out at Texas Tech’s football stadium while he ate. When Mahomes mentioned the restaurant as his favorite, West said their love of the former Red Raider only grew stronger.

“We were honored to be thought of, and we already loved him, but that made us love him even more,” West said. “We wish him good luck in the Super Bowl. We’re always rooting for him.”

So what did we think?

Alison: 8/10

I don’t know what I was expecting when I learned Mahomes’ favorite college snack was fried cheese. Cheese balls? Cubes, maybe? So, when we got this basket of ginormous cheese sticks on our table, I was excited. The breading is much thicker, more crumbly than your average mozzarella stick, and, dipped in ranch, these made for a great pre-dinner snack.

Irvin: 8.5/10

If I was still in college, I could see this spot being a constant temptation for my late-night cravings. I mean, their famous fried cheese is essentially super-sized mozzarella sticks! What’s not to like? If I ever find myself back in Lubbock, I’m definitely coming back.

Emily: 9/10

My experience at Spanky’s was delightful. The restaurant exuded a cute and cozy atmosphere, giving off strong college student vibes reminiscent of my days at San Francisco State University. It reminded me of the mom-and-pop spot, Underdogs Tres, in San Francisco. The famous fried cheese was HUGE and incredibly crunchy. I couldn’t help but wonder where they found such gigantic mozzarella! The cheese stayed perfectly intact, offering a delightful stretchy goodness. Personally, I enjoyed it even more with the ranch dressing.