Death to Fast Food

Once I found myself in one of those fake 1950s diners, seeking some solace in an era that I sorely regret not being a part of. I’ve always been able to imagine myself, complete with bouncing ponytail and poodle skirt, sharing a malted with my beau in a place much like this—one with chrome spinning seats at the counter, deep vinyl booths, and even a jukebox playing all the classic rock–n-roll tunes. But this chain restaurant was lacking something. Maybe it was the fact that the cook kept his apron impossibly clean from the hamburger grease, or that mohawks and Nikes had no place in that long-gone era. More likely, the place lacked the feeling that it was real. It didn’t have the smells and feel of a genuine “mom-and-pop” hamburger joint. My willing suspension of disbelief grew thinner because I knew this place had been reproduced in cookie-cutter fashion all over the U.S. It’s difficult to recreate something 50 years after its glory days. 

A Dying Breed
Amazingly, some of the original “mom-and-pop” hamburger joints in the south have survived the wage of McDonald’s warfare over the years, though they are a dying breed. Arkansas still holds these pockets of the past in many cities and tiny towns. Whenever my family took trips through Arkansas, I was always the one who would spot some faded sign like “Joe’s Burger Shack” or “What-A-Burger” and plead to stop there rather than the old standby, McDonald’s. The advantages to eating at an independent burger joint included a menu that could not be duplicated anywhere in the world, as well as ambience. I was drawn to the cracked and faded seats, the wobbly tables, and the static sound of oldies coming out of an old boom box. I liked watching the cook/owner/waiter prepare my heaping order of French fries. Heat lamps were a sin in places like these.