I’m usually a happy early riser. If I am not drinking my first cuppa joe by 6 a.m. I feel as though the day has started without me. But this morning was an exception. It was Francheska’s day to drive, and she would be here by 11 a.m. We were going…well, we were going to a trailer to eat lunch. Yep, you heard right— a trailer. We have driven past its location several times, and each time I hold my breath as it was not a bright, new, shiny trailer, but a kind of smokey silver, dented trailer set off the road behind several small out buildings, and a couple of questionable small sheds, and I just wanted to keep going.
As always, Giselle touted its glorious culinary possibilities. She had been going on about how great the food was for about three months now. “How many times have you eaten there,” I asked? “Well, never but I know the food has got to be good.” Once again Francheska agreed, “We really need to go there.”
So this was the day. We got to the Miller Road exit off I-69, drove a short distance to a bumpy parking lot, and there in all its glory, sat the Twisted Burger. Let me say here that when I and my husband traveled across country on vacation with three kids, we learned that when you open the door of an eatery and it doesn’t smell like good food is cooking, turn around and leave, because you’re not going to be happy.
Giselle, up the stairs in a flash, held open the door for us, and there was the smell of cooking, not real strong, as it was only 11:25 a.m. but reasonably good.
We were shown to a red leather and chrome booth. The floor was black and white checkerboard tiles, quaint. Curtains on the windows, a pristine white, looked starched and ironed. We settled in and waited. In about a minute this really, really handsome waiter came to our table with a big smile and apron tied about his waist. He kind of bowed and asked what he could get us to drink.
So far so good. The coffee tasted fresh brewed and like coffee—not colored water. The iced tea was also fresh and of the stronger taste. Menus were only two pages, but quite the mix. We noticed there were no female waiters. The men were doing the ordering, the cooking and the cleaning up. Very good.
The menu didn’t say how big the burgers were, or tout how good the fries were. There were no pictures in this menu—you had to order by faith. We did. Burgers, fries, slaw and salad. It was now starting to smell pretty good and we were getting hungry.
Mr. Waiter came to refill our cups and glasses. I asked him why the name Twisted Burger, thinking a machine perhaps twisted the meat or something. He smiled and said, “The buns.” At this remark we all kept our eyes on his face, Francheska had a puzzled look on her face, so he proceeded to say, “The buns we are well known for are the pretzel buns we serve our burgers on.” Ahhh got it, makes perfect sense. I had a comeback, but the look on Francheska’s face made me not say a thing.
The food came and it was plentiful. The burgers were the perfect size—not too big and not too small—the fries hot, not greasy and crispy. The slaw was very good and had slivers of other vegetables in it. The salad was fine and dressing was homemade. Now to finally eat a Twisted Burger. Yum, yummy. I can’t say enough about this hidden gem, and we will go back.
Perhaps, instead of small towns turning old railroad cars into museums, they could turn them into “railroad burger joints.” Who knows it might catch on? Half the fun was in the decor, the actual building, and of course, the charming waiter.
So, once back in the car, both of my friends got down to business. “So, what did you think, about the Twisted Burger, not to mention the buns?” chortled Giselle. “I would go back. I ate everything on my plate, and liked it all,” wishing it was closer.
“You just have to trust our judgment more,” laughed Francheska.
I think Giselle was already thinking about our next adventure and where to find another “treasure” to visit. So many places to go—do you know a treasure we can go to?—so little time.
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