Cheeseburgers

Jimmy buffet has made a fortune singing about cheeseburgers in paradise. Many more people have made millions selling cheeseburgers. I love cheeseburgers. I have done my part to help make the sellers of cheeseburgers rich.

I have been known to dream and daydream about cheeseburgers. Twice in my life I have taken on the discipline of 40 days of fasting. Both of these times I often found myself dreaming of cheeseburgers. I envisioned a big old cheeseburger – a big old cheeseburger, that is, with rich yellow American cheese clinging to the top and dripping down the sides of the burger. The burger of my dreams sat on a nice thick bun that held together the other makings – a fresh tomato slice, a thick sweet onion, lettuce, mayo, ketchup, mustard and lots of pickles. I would wake up smelling them in my sleep. I love yummy cheeseburgers. I even like bad cheeseburgers. But, to me, a good cheeseburger is a work of art.

Several years ago my youngest sister and her family lived in Southport, North Carolina. One summer we went to visit them. We had a difficult time locating them because she kept insisting that she lived in Northport, South Carolina. This was in the days before Mapquest^TM and the Global Positioning System, so I spent hours pouring over maps of South Carolina before giving up. A family member finally tipped me off that she was really living in Southport, North Carolina. Ha, ha, what a kidder. We went to visit her anyway.

This little town had a restaurant that had an excellent reputation with the locals. The owner was semiretired and only opened when he happened to feel like it. So during the lunch hour people would drive by slowly to see if he was open. It he was, they didn't even bother parking their cars and trucks. They just abandoned them in the street and rushed into the restaurant. The menu was extremely simple. It offered either hamburgers or cheeseburgers. Take your pick. All customers went to the counter to order and waited for his or her sandwich to be produced – hand made and delicious. On your way to the table one could grab a drink out of the cooler and pick up a pack of chips. At each table was a friendly little sign that read, "When you are finished eating please leave." And when you did finish eating and left, you were not given a bill. You just went to the cash register, told the owner what you had and paid what he told you.

I got to thinking about cheeseburgers because this past week I was able to treat my honey to a truly great cheeseburger. On our way home from a funeral in Indiana we stopped by the Cedar Grove Tavern. Cedar Grove, Indiana, is about the size of city block, only with fewer people. Even though the town is tiny, the tavern is not that easy to find, sitting a block off of the main drag. It is a little restaurant with a bar, a party room and a four lane bowling alley in the back. It is absolutely cool. It is THE place to be in southeastern Indiana when lunch time rolls around. And people gather from all around to enjoy some great chili, the occasional "fried chicken day" and the ever popular cheeseburger. Their cheeseburgers are to die for.

Don't go into the place starving because your burger, being a masterpiece, will take some time to make. This is no fast food, slap a frozen patty on the grill burger. Every once in a while it takes long enough that I start to think they are out killing the cow. Each burger is hand made, about one inch thick. There is definitely more burger than bun. After adding some pickles, onion, lettuce and tomato, taking that first bite is a challenge and might call for a snake like jaw unhinging. Chomping on one of these beauties could make anyone sing an ode to the cheeseburger and Cedar Grove, Indiana, suddenly starts to seem like paradise.

If you go to the Cedar Grove Tavern for a cheeseburger in paradise, tell them I sent you.

Copyright © 2008, William T. McConnell, All Rights Reserved