The other day we made a little trek to a place my kids tell me I used to go all the time with my Grampa. Honestly, I don’t remember it at all – but my mother tells them I’ve been here and I have no reason to doubt it, I just don’t remember it. My KIDS remember it, though. They’ve been here with their grandparents. And so it goes. Even if the shakes were bad we’d probably still come here.
It’s a popular joint with a “regular” crowd – you know the kind… they know what you want when you walk in the door. It smells like heaven (if there’s fried food in heaven, which I’m sure there must be,) and sounds like the 50’s inside and out with a speaker playing to those that use the walk-up service window rather than going in where the swamp cooler keeps it comfy.
It’s almost worth the 12 hour drive from home – at least for the high marks on the nostalgia factor scale.