I'll Have Fries With That

It was near 2AM when I took the exit off Interstate 81 somewhere in Virginia.  I was tired and beginning to see quadruple yellow lines on the pavement. I didn’t think it was fatigue but probably hunger that caused the vision malfunction. I parked the battered Toyota near the entrance door of the small concrete block building.  Mine was the only car there except for an old ‘64 Chevy visible around the corner of the building. The “e” in the word  “diner” was flickering but the Budweiser neon sign in the window was glowing brightly. I stretched to my full six feet and two inches to get some of the kinks out before I pulled open the screen door. There were a couple of tables on either side of the door. I’m sure that they came from the local secondhand store, tables with chrome legs and Formica tops.  But I didn’t care, I was tired and hungry. I had a feeling that I had been there before. There was a lunch counter almost the full width of the building. At the far end of the counter were gallon jars of red pickled eggs and pickled pigs feet.  I climbed aboard a vinyl covered stool and looked at the menu over the grill. Hamburger steak or country fried steak, which would it be?

“Whatcha want?” asked the big man from behind the counter. I’m not quite sure how he maneuvered his considerable bulk in the limited space between the grill and the counter. He was a young man that looked old, maybe in his thirties but looked in his fifties. Definitely rode hard and put away wet.  

“I think I’ll order the hamburger steak with fries and a side salad,” I answered.

“A’ight, anything to drank?” There was a drawl in his voice.

“Bud Light” I said.

“Huh?” the big man with the gray stubble on his face responded.

“Bud,” I said.  I was thirsty.

“Right!” he said, as he quickly pulled a long neck from beneath the counter and slammed it down.  I watched the foam of St. Louis’ famous brew slowly drool down the sides of icey bottle and puddle on the counter. Almost instantly a wilted lettuce, tomato, carrot, and cucumber salad appeared on the counter with prerequisite crackers and a  bottle of thousand island salad dressing.

I took a long pull off the Bud and started to devour the salad. I was so busy feeding my face that I had not noticed her. She sat at the end of the counter opposite the eggs and pig's feet. She was probably in her early twenties or late teens, slim, with mousey brown hair in a pony tail. Her face had sort of a waifish look. She wore a white blouse with a high collar. I wondered how she was traveling. The brunette with the ponytail looked sort of familiar.

I spotted the jukebox in the corner and decided to check it out. I flipped through the selections on the old Wurlitzer and made my three selections for a quarter.  “Only the Lonely by Roy Orbison, Smoke Gets in your Eyes by the Platters, and Peggy Sue by Buddy Holly. “Wow!” I said to myself, I hadn't gotten three plays for a quarter since the sixties. The mechanical arm inside selected the record from a moving carousel and placed it on the small turntable. The tone arm moved over the appropriate grove and stopped. “Hey, what the...,” I exclaimed.  

“Jest hit on the side wit de flat o’ yo hand!” came  the growl from behind the counter. Music filled the place when I followed his instructions.

Walking back to the counter and sitting down I took a sideways glance at the girl at the other end of the counter. The idea that I might have some company for the rest of my trip was coming to fruition when the counterman slid the plate of food in front of me.

“I need some…” I did not get to finish my request before a bottle of Hunt’s catsup and Heinz 57 sauce came sliding up to my plate from down the counter.  The catsup I wanted, but not the Heinz. Did you know you can dip an old tarnished penny in Heinz 57 and it will come out bright and shiny. I didn’t need that kind of stuff in my stomach. I grabbed the Hunt’s and looked to my hamburger steak. It had been a long time since I had eaten one. Actually, hamburger steak was the first kind of steak I enjoyed. Around our house growing up we were not familiar with sirloin, porterhouse, New York strip or filet mignon. Nope, if the beef wasn’t ground or chopped, we didn’t eat it. Daddy raised four kids on a minimum wage job. My mother could make most anything taste good. So...I guess this meal was like a little trip down memory lane. Some people make an over-sized hamburger patty and call it a hamburger steak. But there is a lot more to it than that. You gotta start with the best ground beef. Add an egg, some chopped onion, tomato paste and one slice of white bread torn into tiny pieces. Add a little salt and pepper and a touch of cumin. Lay all that, mixed well, in an iron skillet. Make it about ¾ of an inch thick. That’s the beginning of a great hamburger steak, and the one I was eating brought back all those memories. Can’t believe some people serve up a hamburger steak with brown gravy and onions.The fries were good too. Maybe not cooked in beef tallow or duck fat but still good. I finished my meal with a piece of very good apple pie and a cup of coffee with just a small grease slick on it. Yep, that’s why they’re called greasy spoons.

I paid the man, used the bathroom, and was on the way out the door when I noticed that the girl was gone. “What happened to the girl?” I turned and asked the behemoth wiping down the counter.

“What  girl?” he asked without looking up. I needed to go. No time for small talk.

I looked in my rear view mirror as I was leaving and noticed that the “e” in diner had finally given up the ghost. Then it hit me!  The girl looked exactly like Betty Jean Quattlebaum from my high school days!

Five minutes later my speedometer indicated I was approaching 81 miles per hour on I-81. It had been a great hamburger steak and there was only a double yellow line in the westbound lanes now. Toby Keith was on the radio, “I ain’t as good as I once wuz…”