Scenes from a western Kentucky burger joint

I don’t know why this wasn’t posted in summer 2018. I jotted these images down immediately after a trip through Paducah and Land Between the Lakes before a last stop in Cadiz. 

Where the turn would lead, I couldn’t tell. The road had to cross the business loop through town. I could come here any day, just 80 miles up the road, yet I rarely crossed the state line or even pointed in this direction.

I know I would stop to eat in this little town the moment an elderly man in a straw cowboy hat waved at me unsolicited. He might wave at everyone, but he flashed that hand when it mattered most. He was the only person out on the main street.

A sunny evening cast golden light on the county courthouse, the old waterworks and the public school complex. Even the old diner, cars crowded out front, earned a brief gilding in the golden hour. I could ignore the building’s slump where an expansion did not quite meet the original structure.

Near the end of the business route, I scanned the streetscape for the neon logo and green cinder block building. It was a little chain in western Kentucky, a homespun place known for its burgers. As I ran out of business loop and the U.S highway approached, a tiny structure fit the profile. Two employees held down the counter, where a half-dozen people waited on orders. I joined the queue, not in a rush with an hour of interstate and ample daylight ahead of me.

Moving from register to griddle, the griddle man did not hide his grumpiness, every word tinged with soreness of a long day. I didn’t blame him – he had probably labored over hundreds of burgers on his long Saturday shift. I didn’t dare stare or speak in his direction – he didn’t need any extra agitations. He was just eager for his 8 p.m. quitting time.

This grillmaster wore the standard-issue ballcap for these parts, a white stencil K on bright blue backdrop. From Murray to Lexington, this state loves basketball. Smaller high schools in Kentucky might not have a football programs but you can be sure they have basketball. 

The lady who ran the counter handled the customers with grace and respect. When I gave an average tip from my change, she seemed surprised. I watched them work, they deserved every penny, but might have grown accustomed to people treating them like fast food. Before that, she remarked that my change amount- $4.44 – was a sign I should go by a lottery ticket. I didn't, but probably should have

As my order browned toward completion, a man ordered eight double-cheeseburgers, and 16 more patties sizzled on the grill. They loaded buns with onions, mustard and pickles (fully dressed according to the menu board).

An older couple sat down next to me. The man ordered coffee, his wife ordered sweet tea only to find they were out, so she switched to Dr. Pepper. Immediately the man began talking to me – he needed coffee at 7 p.m. after a day of playing and keeping pace with their grandchildren. “At least we got a good two-hour nap out of them,” he said. They didn’t get stares or dirty looks for just ordering drinks. In fact, 10 minutes later, the female cook presented the woman with a second drink, a sweet tea from a fresh batch.

They didn’t ask where I came from, they just started talking about seeing a deer on Main Street this morning or the fridge technician who severed the coolant line in their daughter’s fridge as he tried to fix the ice-maker. From a tablet, they showed me pictures of a massive catfish their friend landed in Barkley Lake. Their friend didn't throw the fish back, but gave it away to whoever would appreciate the meal.

The taste of the burgers almost didn’t matter. They beat any fast food burger – I saw their change from meatballs smashed flat with a spatula, slowly cooked on a griddle till the cook applied cheese. A little more greasy than I might like, I didn’t complain as I pulled out of the little town on the edge of farms. The burgers were gone by the time I turned onto the interstate and back toward Tennessee,  sunset beams streaking across the fertile plains.

No one in the burger shack called me out as a day traveler. I’m sure they get their share from the nearby recreation area and their proximity to the truck-heavy interstate. I wasn’t anyone, yet never felt like a stranger.