After over a fortnight spent just thirty minutes from Seattle, we finally decided to go and check it out. I lured my wife and son out with the promise of the Pacific Science Center, but my true intention was to have my first burger from Dick’s Drive-In in over a decade. Every time that I come back up here, I say I’m going to spend more time in Seattle, but every time I seem to be limited by the availability of transportation to the Bainbridge Island ferry terminal. I think it was for David’s fourth birthday, maybe, that we went over to Seattle Center to gaze upon the Space Needle, bum around the Pacific Science Center, and check out the Science Fiction display over at the E.M.P. I have entirely too many photos of our afternoon that summer, which is good, because David can’t remember even a single thing.

I really wanted to do something fun, and get the minkey out of the house, but I woke up late this morning, still groggy from less that five hours’ worth of sleep, and by the time my mom got back to the house, and my son convinced her to come with, there wasn’t really any chance at all of doing much more than just a couple things. But we walked out there anyway, eschewing public transportation for a brisk walk uphill in the bracing chill. I won’t lie: it’s been quite some time since I’ve walked around Seattle, and even longer still since I went looking for something that I couldn’t find at the base of the Space Needle. The directions on my phone seemed contradictory, at best, designed less for a pedestrian that a driver on the sidewalk. My wife again accused me of leading her around in circles (something she’s insisted that I’ve done both of the other times this trip that we’ve walked somewhere in Town), and this time, she was on surer footing. By the time we finally arrived at the restaurant I’d spent the past couple days tirelessly talking up, we were cold, and tired, and extremely hungry, and ready for amazing eats at the one and only (there are five other locations) Richard’s Fine Cuisine:

I only remembered the joint up in Lake City, where you’d walk up the the window, pay, and get your food, and leave. If you wanted to stick around and eat there at the restaurant, you had to stand off to the side, out of doors in every type of weather. So I was shocked to see what appeared to be a regular looking building with a giant neon Dick’s outside. We hurried in the doorway, David running for the bathroom (I swear this kid has no idea how to use his bladder: lets’s go past everywhere that might just have facilities… are we far enough… I NEED TO PEE!) and dragging my wife behind, while my mother and I took a couple minutes to inspect that glorious Menu Board that taunts my dreams of restaurant ownership like Pablo Neruda mocks my poetry.

Four burgers. Fries. Milkshakes. Soda. Ice Cream. Want something else? Too bad. No special orders, no nonsense. And if you desperately must customize your burger, they’ve got little cups of onions, ketchup, tartar sauce, and mustard for just a nickel each. In this day and age of every single restaurant trying to be everything to everybody, shedding quality and flavor with every menu option, and always is search of that final demographic which will push them past the tipping point into Scrooge McDuck’s bloody money vault, Dick’s has chosen a better route. With only a handful of items they are required to prepare, the opportunity for mastery is frequently attained, and free of the nonsense promotions that most restaurants endure, the focus is on fundamentals, not gimmicks and movie tie-ins.

If the menu prices changed since the last time I’d eaten there, it can’t have been by much. 2 Dick’s Deluxe, 1 Dick’s Special, 2 Cheeseburgers, 2 Fries, 3 Milkshakes and a Diet Coke ran us just under $25 (including the sales tax). I literally cannot remember the last time that I’ve taken my family out to eat and it’s cost me less than $30 (and usually for much less food, or at least, less generous portions). I brought the tray back to our table and sat it down between us. I tore apart the wrapper on my Dick’s Deluxe much like I’d done to gifts from Santa, years ago on Christmas Morning. By the time my son had gotten around to complaining how he would have rather eaten at McDonald’s, I’d already swallowed half my burger, and decided that I might enjoy it more if I took the time to chew. Between bites, I told David to knock off his thrumming whinge, and see how a fast-food burger was supposed to taste. He stared at it like someone might regard Soy Bacon, muttering that “McDonald’s cheeseburger is my favorite cheeseburger,” and bravely brought it to his lips. I must have blinked, because I never saw what happened, but that cheeseburger was never seen again. I asked my son what he had thought, and if he’d liked his burger. He said it was “just as good as what I get at McDonald’s.” I sighed and checked in on how my wife was doing.

Having heard for years about the Mythical Burgers at the Place up in Seattle that My Husband Won’t Shut Up About, I think she was expecting something… fancier. I can’t rightly say for sure, but she appeared to be mostly unimpressed, and had been hoping for something capable of living up to its hype. I took a bite of her Deluxe, to see if something had gone wrong, but it was just as delicious at that which had couchsurfed in my jowls. There was nothing wrong with what she’d eaten, I was sure, so the fault must lay within herself. As for my mother: it may have taken her a good half-hour, but she ate her entire hamburger and at least a couple fries, and said that it was, and I quote, “Pretty good.”

My son chirped in, “But not as good as McDonald’s, right Grandma?”

I sighed…

-Tex