It was a gorgeous summer day, and I was driving by the Pick Quick. I was hungry. I had time. So I made the split-second decision, as I often do as a food writer, to pull into the crowded lot. Such a neophyte I was that I forgot that the restaurant, then still operated by the Burgi family, only accepted cash, as was tradition. In an unusual move (normally I yield to karma), I got back in the car, drove to the nearest ATM, returned to the grassy knoll in Fife, and placed my order: double cheeseburger, fries, raspberry shake.
Soothed by the rumble of traffic whirring down Pacific Highway, or Route 99 to some, and the repeated staff-to-customer question of “raw or grilled” as it pertains to onions, I eventually settled into a red picnic table with my paper bag.
The vehicular energy and the unfortunate weight of pavement that powers it has surely changed since 1949, but the satisfaction of a cheeseburger and fries never dies. And the Tacoma area has no pittance of pathways to appease the passion…