16 Oct 01

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Tar Pit of Boomer Nostalgia

Napalm and I had lunch at a place called Cheeburger Cheeburger (not a typo) on University. I hear that the name was inspired by a burger joint in Chicago whose slogan is "Cheezborger! Cheezborger!" Anyway, I was feeling in the mood for some kind of specialty burger for lunch, but neither of us could think of a place.

I was flashing back to Monterey, California, where there are two Del Monte Express locations. That place has some fifty, at least, kinds of hamburger on their menu, and if you want something that's not there, you ask, and as long as you want it slapped on beef and bun, you got it. That's the kind of place I need around here, and I was hoping Cheeburger x 2 was gonna be it.

By the way, when you read Del Monte Express, try not to think too much of ketchup or green beans. Del Monte is a big name in the Monterey area. They've got streets and even a mall by that name. It took me a while of living there to shake off the grocery association in my head. Damn that advertising.

Back in Florida, despite there being two signs that insisted on our waiting to be seated, and seeing that one of them featured James Dean telling us to not even think about seating ourselves, somebody yelled at us from over at the soda fountain to just pick any place. I was sad to see that there was only one kind of hamburger on the menu, although it comes in five sizes, ranging from quarter to full pound. I said full pound. And the full pound burger is post-cooking weight! If you eat it, they stick your polaroid on the wall.

One consolation, though: you could pick one of six different cheeses for your burger. Another consolation - egg cream.

Those of you who knew me in my soda days know what I mean. Yeah baby. Those who don't - well it's in the Hangar somewhere.

Even so, as I chewed my underdone burger and excellent onion rings, I looked around the place searching for a phrase that expresses the sad tired feeling I get in restaurants of a certain theme. Finally the words "tar pit of Boomer nostalgia" fluttered out of the air to land on my shoulder, and that seemed to do the trick. The Starlite Diner, one of my favorite places to eat, is sadly thus afflicted. But the food is good.

I get tired in restaurants done up in Mid Twentieth-Century Attic as well. You'll recognize the genre - Bennigan's, T.G.I. Friday's and Ruby Tuesday were all apparently benefactors of somebody's great aunt's estate sale.

Napalm and I finished off the passable meal - he seemed to be enjoying his burger a lot more than I did mine. Dammit, from now on I ask for well done and that's it. On the way to and from the place, we made a list of all the restaurants we passed, with exception of the truly notably sucky ones we know about, and then added to that list all the restaurants that we know and like, so maybe next time his roommate leans into the lab and asks, "Dinner?" we won't have to rub our faces for half an hour trying to figure out some place to go. 

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