Once we got to the the Walnut Valley Festival, I was moderately consigned to the fact that the best food we’d have outside camp was the fair food on the midway. So while chatting with some friends at their campsite (about my preternatural fascination with cheeseburgers, among other things), one of the locals said, “Have you been to the Burger Station?” My ears raised like a cat to the sound of a can opener.
He then went on to describe a “carry-out only” place that served a “heart-attack-in-a-sack” for which you had to hold your hand under the bag because the grease would so weaken the paper that you couldn’t carry the burgers all the way to the car without them crashing through the paper to the ground. (What a description! What a sentence!). Jo and I, along with two buddies (David and Coy, whose last names will be withheld to protect their identities) headed over there for lunch on Thursday. Walking in (the door on the right) you sidle up to a counter where you place your order. With the four of us inside, we stretched from in door to out door. On the opposite side of the counter was, from right to left, cash register, counter-top (the picture picks up here),