There are few franchised eating establishments that dot the southern California landscape worth mentioning in a food blog. As you might guess the majority of these would be fast food. In-n-out and Tommy’s are two that come to mind, that might be considered institutions, perhaps maybe even iconic.
Lately, after not really enjoying the sandwich known as a burger most of my life, I have come to a term of endearment with the in-n-out cheese burger and indulge myself on rare occasions, and even more recently I have started to crave a burger that I once had in college. A little place over on Beverly and Rampart that we would drive to after the UCLA football games at the Coliseum, (I know I am dating myself once again).
Tommy’s. I would stand in line and order mine, no onion no mustard and watch the big Samoan guy scowl at me for the special request, but dutifully make it for me non-the- less; the greasy cheesy chili mess all over my hands which later had to be washed with soap to remove the orange stains (from the grease and chili), a super thick slice of tomato, crisp pickles slices, and no mustard.
Today I indulged myself once again. Not living near, or wanting to drive to the “Original” Tommy’s. I decided to try one that was on my way home from the office. I assume they would all be as good, as conscientious about your burger, even with a scowl, the Samoan made mine right every time.
I drove through, Cheeseburger grilled onion, NO mustard. The cashier repeated my order to me and handed me a bag that was already beginning to turn a faint orange color on the bottom.
By the time I got home to eat the thing, I had worked myself into a Tommy burger froth. I found my camera do document the blessed event, carefully unwrapping and photographing the mess. Next I decided to cut the burger, since you really couldn’t see the inside from the frontal shot.
I cut the burger in two and separated the halves, licking the knife in anticipation of my first bite.
What did I taste?
No, it couldn’t be!
I removed the bun and yes, it was there, bright yellow, I took off the tomato, the pickle, and scraped off the onion until no yellow was to be seen. What was left? Chili, burger and cheese; I had a pink pit bull begging at my feet. I considered giving her what was left, half a bun, burger and chili, but I was hungry, so I knife and forked most of the remainder. I had heartburn by the time I was halfway through, probably more from the disappointment than from the food. The pretty pink pit bull shared the second half with me, I wonder if she got heartburn too.
Such an anti-climactic journey back in time, maybe one day I will journey back to Rampart and Beverly. I am sure the big Samoan who made sure there was no mustard on my burger 20 years ago is long gone, but hopefully replaced with someone just as conscientious, who maybe doesn’t scowl.