My first trip to K’s Hamburger Shop was a momentous one imbued with confusion. In fairness, it doesn’t take much to stir things up at K’s because things are as they have always been and will forever be. A quick glance at the menu speaks volumes: fruit or vegetable jello ($1.25); biscuit and gravy ($2.45); double cheeseburger ($3.35); refills on pop (50 cents). Dad had recommended we stop there for a break on our bike ride* because K’s recently hired a young man to work as soda jerk, and he’d been going at the job full tilt, complete with little paper cap and bow tie. When we walked in he was chatting up customers sitting at the counter, as any good soda jerk would.
In contrast, the hardscrabble woman at the ordering counter wore a gruff expression and put little stock in small talk. When I ordered an egg and bacon sandwich ($3.55) and requested the eggs be scrambled, she gave me a long look.
“It won’t hold together that way,” she pronounced, implying that we should move on to more sensible choices.
“I’ll wrestle with it,” I replied, somewhat taken aback that she was voicing opposition. “And can I also get cheese on it?” This too was followed by the same long look.
“She’s not from around here,” explained Dad, now a veteran of K’s after several summers of bike trips to Troy. A former Ohioan, I had been away from here long enough that I now required explanation. (I did in fact grow up near Troy, though it had been 25 years since I’d lived in the area; while I still consider myself a Midwesterner, California may have gotten the better of me, at least where egg sandwiches are concerned.) I’d brought West Coast ways to K’s, and they wanted nothing of them.
Making it clear that this went against her better judgment, she wrote down my order, and the sandwich came as I’d requested. Do I need to say it was perfect? It was indeed. Two slices of toasted white bread, a couple strips of bacon, a piece of melted Velveeta and a couple of eggs, scrambled. Dad ate his eggs and toast ($4.00, with coffee) and I ate my egg sandwich, and then we were back on our bikes (left unlocked outside) and were on our way back to Tipp City, now fortified for the return leg of the trip.
Needless to say, on my next trip back to Ohio, I asked Dad if our annual bike ride could follow the same route and include a trip to K’s. Who knew what havoc I might inadvertently wreak this time around, with my crazy California ways?
As it turns out, K’s has a few quirks of its own, and they only serve to make it an even more marvelous establishment.
The young woman at the counter greeted us with the same low-key pragmatism as the other woman had, but whatever skepticism she felt about my order she kept to herself. This time around I got a hot dog ($1.95), and when she asked me what I wanted on it, informing me that my choices were mayo, mustard, ketchup, onions, tomato and lettuce — well, I just went for the whole thing, minus the mayo. This was a good decision. The pan-fried hotdog came split open and cut in half cross-wise so that if fit nicely on the hamburger bun, and it was loaded up as requested with all the fixings. Dad had ordered the same thing, and once again we happily consumed our food at a formica-topped booth while discussing the merits of Chicago-style hotdogs.
We hadn’t seen the soda jerk at the counter when we came in, so we asked the floor attendant, a cheerful woman who earlier had obligingly helped me with some bathroom difficulties, if he was working that day.
“Oh, he’s in the back, rolling meat,” she said.
I tried to control my expression, as this answer confounded me, though it was clearly the most natural thing in the world at K’s. As it didn’t seem right to ask for further explanation, I returned to my hotdog. Once again, Dad came to my rescue, though it was clear that he too was a bit thrown by her response.
“So he’s here, though, just working in the back?” Dad asked, stating the obvious but nicely filling the space left by my confusion to her nonchalant explanation. “We always hope to see him because he’s such a throwback, with his uniform and manner.”
“Yeah, he’s here. He’ll be back up front when he’s done in the kitchen.” And with that, she moved along.
Mulling this conversation over, we finished up our hotdogs and made to leave. As we passed the front counter, we could see someone cooking balls of meat on the flattop grill, pressing them into hamburgers. Dad whispered, “They’re cooking hamburgers — it’s the rolled meat!” We were both, I think, relieved to have an explanation for this mysterious task.
Not long after I returned to San Francisco, I got an email from my Dad in which he described his most recent visit to K’s, this time with his friend Orlan. The two of them have biked many miles together over the years, so they’ve eaten many a meal at K’s (among other fine Mom-and-Pop spots in the Miami Valley). Here’s what Dad had to say about their visit:
The Kid was on duty serving the counter customers, and he was in good form: leaning on the counter in a casual manner and chatting up a bunch of older guys, refilling coffee plus popping back and forth to the kitchen for cooking duties when things got busy. Guess the meat had already been rolled before we arrived. He had on the clean white shirt and the soda-jerk paper hat.
We had the usual crew of “older ladies” tending to order taking. Orlan ordered the full bacon and egg breakfast, and I got a deluxe hamburger. My burger was a bit slow coming out, and the lady informed me that it was delayed because she had to cut a fresh onion (apparently the first onion request of the day).
After we exited, I returned to fill my water bottle, and The Kid said: “So good you just had to come back?”
I answered in the affirmative.
* Tipp City to Troy — a beautiful bike route that follows the old Erie Canal, and part of the 330 miles of Miami Valley Bike Trails. While in Troy, check out their lovely, new, blue Adams Street bridge.
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