I have long been an In-and- Out burger fan. Unless you count those photos of World War II wives saying goodbye to their husbands, there’s nothing quite so heart-breaking as the last bite of one of their cheeseburgers. You don’t have room for another, but you don’t want to let this one go, kind of like Joseph Cotten in Laura or James Stewart in Vertigo. Poor saps.



My family and I have loved In-N-Out burgers when the only franchise was in Ventura. off the Seaward Ave. offramp, where we’d stop on the way to a Dodger game or some other catastrophe. The crowds inside were thicker than the extras in The Ten Commandments. Then the franchise inched closer, to Santa Maria and then—O Happy Day!—Arroyo Grande finally got one!

That wasn’t the franchise we visited yesterday when, after the first bite, I realized that the bun was faintly stale, This has never happened before! I thought, but the Counter Lady was so engrossed with a six-year-old girl (they were discussing the first day of school) that I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of that conversation. So I finished my burger, which was adequate, and focused on the fries, which were mighty fine.

So that led me to ponder mighty fine burgers, which In-N-Out’s usually are. Here we go:

—Bob Gregory Burgers. Back when $20 would fetch four bags of groceries (Young’s Giant Foods, 18th and Grand Ave, Grover, George the Happy Butcher), my father’s grilled burgers were so thick that we learned to unhinge our jaws, like Boa Constrictors, so we could take a bite. Like Boa Constrictors, we did not have to eat again for a long, long time.

Winston approves of my burgers.


—Teen Burgers, A & W Root Beer (across from Young’s Giant Food). The idea of pairing cheese AND bacon to a hamburger was once novel and, when you’re twelve, you could inhale at Teen Burger and get away with it. My cardiologist would not be thrilled today. Best accompanied by a root beer freeze.

—Village Grill. For some reason, I am not a fan of shredded lettuce, but everything else about this burger is quite good. So are their onion rings, a dish that remains atop the pyramid of my personal food groups, thank you very much.

—Gradburgers. Alas, The Grad, now closed on Industrial Way in SLO, made an epic burger, served on a big square fluffy bun that you could see being prepared. The first bite of a Gradburger, I think, was kind of like (someday, and hopefully) St. Peter informing you that you’d made it into The Show. My great and good friend Randy Fiser and the best man at our wedding, Rob Rosales, were bouncers there. Gradburgers gave them the protein they needed to heave drunks deep into the parking lot.

Alas, I never had a Scrubby and Lloyd burger, mythical in SLO. We just never got up to the Big City often enough.

—Sylvester’s Hawaiian Burger (Los Osos). Burger, teriyaki, pineapple, the usual trimmings. While it decomposes faster than a Reese’s in Oildale at noon, the Hawaiian, when accompanied maybe by a beach towel to keep yourself kind of pristine, is divine.

A Jimmy fried egg burger, brioche bun, side of slaw.

—Whoever that lady was who babysat me in 1956. When we lived on Sunset Drive in Arroyo Grande, my parents, for some unfathomable reason, decided to go out on the date. They deposited me with some elderly lady—she had to be fifty, for cryin’ out loud—and she made me a burger for dinner. She added a tomato, also unfathomable to me at age four, that I found so delicious that I raved about hamburgers with tomatoes until the next morning. Maybe until the late afternoon.*

By then, of course, I was ready for a Breakfast Burger. I’ve made those, too, if not for breakfast, then with a fried egg on top. They are incredible.

Don’t tell my cardiologist.


* Here is your cultural reference for 1956: