Resisting the Feminization of America -- One Burger at a Time

Harden’s
432 S. Sheridan Rd.
Tulsa, Oklahoma


We’ve become a nation of pansies.

The feminization of America is now complete.

The fickle whims and desires of women now dominate every aspect of our lives.

Like how you can’t get a glass of water with your lunch any more without a piece of lemon thrown in.

DID I ASK FOR A STINKING LEMON IN MY WATER???

NO!

But that’s what you get.

The feminization of America.

Like how you can’t buy a pair of ordinary blue jeans without some faggity-ass design on the pockets.

Can’t I just get a $10 pair of Wranglers?

Like how you can’t smoke anywhere. Even outside. Might discomfort some hyper sensitive chick down the street.

Like how my Rebel flag hanging in my garage might offend some homely girl from Maryland or Maine.

You know what?

I’m offended that you are offended!

Like how movies about gay cowboys are somehow considered heartwarming Hollywood entertainment.

Heartwarming? How about stomach churning and upchuck educing?

Don’t even get me started about men marrying men. What is this world coming to?

Of course I’m looked at like some kind of Neanderthal just for questioning this absurdity. Like there is something wrong with ME!

Me?!?

Yo! Wake up. We’re talking about dudes getting married to other dudes!

John Wayne has got to be rolling over in his grave.

Pretty soon we’ll be like those emasculated wussies north of the border where the feminization of society is so complete, bathrooms are going unisex and men are being banned from taking a leak standing up.

Are you kidding me?!?!

You’re now telling me how to take a piss?!?

So I have to say a small part of my manly inner soul soared the moment I took a look at the menu board at Harden’s Hamburgers in the hamburger crazy city of Tulsa, Oklahoma.

You see, at Harden’s you don’t just order a quarter pound single or a half pound double.

You have to choose between the “Women’s Burger” or the “Men’s Burger”.

God bless Oklahoma. Where men are still men.

And are still allowed to eat slabs of ground up red meat. (And piss standing up.)

Of course it all makes perfect sense.

What right-thinking heterosexual male would ever order a “single” when a double slab of meat is offered as the alternative?

None. At least none I hang out with.

So, quite content, I told the little lady at the counter I wanted “The Men’s Burger” with cheese. And onion rings.

And a water. No lemon!

She asked me if I wanted mustard, pickles or onions. I thought that was a strange list of options. No lettuce, tomato, ketchup?

I told her onions, yes. No on the mustard and pickles.

Unfortunately after a good 20 minute wait, my “Men’s Burger” finally was delivered to my table. With nothing on it but mustard.

Oh well.

A man’s world is never perfect.

Like a man, I took my Men’s Burger the way it was delivered to me.

Besides, I didn’t have another 20 minutes to wait for another one.

I wish I could give a better review to my Men’s Burger. The meat was very flavorful, packing a significant garlicky punch. But it was just a bit dry.

I understand the desire not to camouflage the flavor of the meat that has been infused by the top secret mixture of Harden’s spices, but the burger could really have used one or two condiments.

The onion rings on the other hand were top notch.

Crispy to the point that when you took a bite, the onion and batter would conveniently break off clean, avoiding the tragedy of onion or batter slippage.

I mean, is there anything worse than having the entire ring of onion and/or batter slide out of your fingers on that first bite?

Well, yes. There are lots of things worse.

Like gay cowboys and lemon in my water.

But at least you don’t have to worry about stuff like that in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Rating: Would Wear A Free Shirt.

Happy Burger

Mr. Happy Burger

3131 E. Market St.

Logansport, IN 46947

Too often, in the world of fast food burgers we are given the duopoly of choice that is McDonald's and Burger King.

Just like our two party system, we are forced to choose between the lesser of two evils, often leading to mediocrity or, even worse, complete and utter ruin. A

The tyranny of the two burger system must come to an end. No longer should people in towns across America be forced to chose between McDonald's and Burger King.

Unfortunately, though, not much room exists for smaller fast food burger joints, just as third party political groups are squeezed out. Often, smaller burger joints are a flash in the pan, like the Reform Party of the 1990s, or are forever lost in the field of giants like the Libertarian Party.

Ladies and Gentleman, I have found the Libertarian Party of the fast food burger world, and it is located in Logansport, Indiana. I am talking about Mr. Happy Burger. In a sea of McDonald's and Burger King, Mr. Happy Burger has found itself a footing in North Central Indiana.

And this place has all the flair of a third party candidate.

It has a giant cow statue out front.

There is a small train running around the ceiling of the seating area and it is completely decked out with Coca Cola collectibles.

Not to mention, it has duel drive-up windows, just like Rally's. Although, the way they had it set up seemed a little awkward, kind of like Bob Barr trying to act like a Libertarian.

Anyway, I was in Logansport in the morning for a business meeting and I asked a local where he would recommend that I go for lunch and he suggested Mr. Happy Burger, as it is unique to Logansport and is a novelty. So, I took his advice and headed right there.

I could tell as I was pulling up that I was going to like this place. It was unique. Heck, it had a giant cow out front!

I didn't spend too much time looking at the menu, as I saw something that instantly peaked my interest. It was a Bulls-Eye Bacon Cheeseburger.

To be a little healthier, I ordered salad from their salad bar. That's right, kids, a fast food burger joint with a salad bar. I should also mention, that this place serves fresh pizza!

I held off from the pizza, but it could have been a good option.

I received my plate for my salad first, as I had to wait for my burger to be cooked. It was a basic salad bar, but that is not to take away from the quality of the food. The salad was fresh, as was the potato salad. In fact, the potato salad was excellent! Yes, a fast food burger joint with good potato salad. I know, it's great.

My burger came out a couple minutes later. It smelled and looked delicious. Only one thing was missing from the burger; the toppings.

Apparently, I was supposed to order it with lettuce, tomato, etc? I don't know, oh well. I ate it just as it was; burger, bacon, cheese, BBQ Sauce.

It was pretty good!

On my way out, I grabbed a Coke for the road and said so long to Mr. Happy Burger!

Now, I'm not going to sit here and tell you that this place was off the charts, but I will say that if you are in Logansport, skip the McDonald's and Burger King, and give Mr. Happy Burger a chance.

It has a larger menu, better ambiance, and the food is better. And did I mention the giant cow statue?

Plus, it's the small guy, and in an unfair fight, you've got to root for the small guy. It's the only way we are going to end the duopoly that controls the world of fast food burgers.

Rating: Seriously thought about buying the shirt to support fast food liberty, but realized I'd rather just blog about it.

Fillin’ Up At T-Rays

T-Rays Burger Station
202 South 8th St.
Fernandina Beach, FL

Beer selection: A few standard domestics if you really need one.

Food: Five Star burgers!

Life isn’t all T-bones and microbrews for us Suits in Strange Places.

Far from it. Although that’s the sort of thing we like to write about.

I’m generally not going to bore you with my 2am trips to the Texaco in search of some sort of sustenance.

But that’s the unglamorous reality for Suit757.

I’ll let you in on a dirty little secret – no matter how much you paid for that airline ticket, it doesn’t include food. Even in first class.

So by the time you land in Savannah, stand in the rental car line and drive to Woodbine, it’s 2am and the only place open in town is the 24 hour service station.

Those hot dogs that have been revolving on those little rollers for God-knows-how-long and the stale buns and the little packages of watery onion slush start to look pretty good when you haven’t eaten anything in 16 hours.

Oh, yeah, I’ve partaken in many a gas station meal. Sometimes, several times a week.

So eating a meal inside a gas station doesn’t faze me in the least.

The shocker is, T-Rays out here on the Florida/Georgia line is darn good gas station fare!

Literally hiding out inside an Exxon station, T-Rays is the place to go in Fernandina for biscuits & gravy, fried shrimp, delicious burgers and small town gossip.

One of my many Suits in Strange Places theories about finding a good place to eat is that quality and advertising are inversely proportional. If you’re good, everybody already knows where you’re at.

Under that theory, T-Rays is Five Star fine dining.

T-Rays not only doesn’t advertise, it darn near camouflages itself. Not even a sign out front.

It’s just an old beat up Exxon station. There is no outward indication that anything special is going on here. Except for all the cars and pick-ups parked out front.

But open the front door and your nose will instantly tell you something better than oil changes is happening here.

Owner Big Ray Mullis sold gas here for nearly four decades while his son, T-Ray, flipped the burgers on the grill next to the beer coolers.

Until about two years ago when federal EPA bureaucrats essentially shut Big Ray down by demanding he spend a quarter million dollars replacing his perfectly good fiberglass gas tanks (probably part of a trillion dollar “job-creating” stimulus plan).

Thanks to T-Ray’s world renowned skill behind the grill, Big Ray’s decision to shut the pumps off for good made sense: most of their little company’s profit came from burgers and onion rings, not gasoline.

So the old pumps – which couldn’t go above $3.99 per gallon anyway – still sit out front rusting while Big Ray now works the lunch time crowd inside, slapping backs and cracking jokes with the his loyal contingent of regulars.

This is the kind of place – and the kind of town – where everybody knows everybody. And the appearance of a stranger (suit or not) prompts lots of head swivels and stares.

The cramped little “dining room” with mismatched chairs and tables is cluttered with knickknacks celebrating the true passion that unites this part of America: SEC football.

Like the rest of this border town, the décor tilts decidedly toward the Georgia Bulldogs. But Gators, Seminoles – and even, God-forbid, Gamecocks – are all well represented in the posters, coffee mugs, bobble heads and even serving plates at T-Rays.

But, needless to say, the décor is not the main attraction here. It’s T-Ray’s burgers.

As someone who has gotten quite a bit of practice lately describing extraordinary food, I find it hard to pin-point exactly what makes T-Ray’s burgers so good.

They’re not the biggest. Not the juiciest. But they just might be the best.

Perfectly constructed on high quality toasted sesame seed buns, these nicely seasoned, ideally cooked burgers come with an excellent accompaniment of crisp lettuce, fresh tomato and sautéed onions.

Like Irina Shayk on the cover of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, all the parts just come together so nicely.

The French fries and corn nuggets -- a local delicacy -- that come out of T-Ray’s magical deep fryer are the perfect side dish.

Corn nuggets can best be described as little lumps of creamed corn breaded and deep fried.

If the above sentence doesn’t sound appetizing to you, then you obviously haven’t been paying attention to this blog.

Let me repeat: corn is nice; deep fried corn is exquisite.

Crunchy on the outside, soft and sweet inside, corn nuggets are an addictive Southern side dish.

But nothing says “Welcome South” like good ‘ole Fried Green Tomatoes, which just happened to be the appetizer special of the day.

Already knowing what T-Ray can do with his vat of bubbling grease, I was anxious to see how this ultimate Southern delicacy would turn out.

Let me just say, I wasn’t disappointed.

These beauties were perfectly breaded and fried with an excellent horseradish dipping sauce that cleared my sinuses.

While thanks to the eternal wisdom of our federal government, I couldn’t fill up my gas tank at this old Exxon station, I had no trouble filling up my stomach.

Gas station cuisine may never get its own Zagat’s fine dining category, but as something of a gas station fare connoisseur, this Suit can boldly claim that T-Rays serves the best meal to be found in any gas station in America. Proving once again that being a Suit in a Strange Place is sometimes the best place to be.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Steers and Queers

Luther’s Café
1425 North Main St.
San Antonio, TX
Visited October 18, 2010

Beer selection: A decent variety of Texan and Mexican beers.

Food: Burgers and bad chili for light-in-the-loafers Texans.



You have to be somewhat fearless to be a Suit in Strange Places.

I mean, by necessity I don’t think twice about pulling up a bar stool by myself any where in a strange city.

Dive bar. Bad part of town. Blue collar. White collar. No collar. Whatever.

You’ll find me sitting there in my suit with the locals, beer in hand, eating the house specialty, whatever that may be.

Fear? Nah.

However, Luther’s did remind me of one recurring…let’s just say…concern.

Concern that I might stumble into the wrong place in the wrong part of some big bi-coastal metropolis.

You know.

Beyonce videos playing on the flat screen instead of Monday Night Football and nothing but dudes in the place.

You know.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t… a concern.

But certainly not here. Nosiree. Not here deep in the heart of Texas, land of cowboys, longhorn steers, 72 oz. porterhouses, 350 pound offensive linemen and the legends of manly men who chose to die fighting for liberty.

This isn’t Vermont. This is the great nation of Texas, goshdammit!

And Luther’s Café certainly doesn’t give off anything but that manly Texas-proud vibe.

It’s a Route 66 themed open air roadhouse known for beer drinking and giant burgers.

Just my kind of place.

My first…concern…was that the entire wait staff was male – at least in the strictly physiological sense.

But the way they pranced around the old roadhouse, you’d think they were auditioning for the sequel “Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood: Slumber Party!”

I mean, I have yet to meet a FEMALE in my multiple decades on this planet that acts that…feminine.

What is the deal? Sam Houston and Davey Crockett are rolling in their graves.

Sure, the bartender was a little strange, but I hadn’t really put the whole sisterhood thing together until it was too late – I had already placed my order for a cup of chili and the “Chipotle Ranch Burger” – which took FOREVER to come out of the kitchen.

The problem was, I didn’t have forever. I had exactly 40 minutes to wolf down my lunch and dash across town for a meeting so important I flew half way across the continent for it.

I really didn’t have the time – or patience – to wait for Snow White and her Seven Dwarfs to casually get around to bringing me my lunch.

By this point, even before I got my food, I knew I had made a poor choice. My Suit in Strange Places instincts failed me this time. Luther's looked cool on the outside. But in my mad dash to fill my narrow 40 minute allotment for daily sustenence, clearly I had erred.

Unfortunately, the cup of chili didn’t do anything to change my mind.

For a place that has no trouble displaying its flamboyance when it comes to hiring, Luther’s sure makes a bland, tasteless chili. It was awful – and $3.25 for about five bites? You’ve got to be kidding me.

It didn’t even taste like chili – more like childhood memories of my mother’s pot roast. Not good (sorry mom).

My burger finally came out almost 30 minutes after I ordered it. None of these “guys” were in much of a hurry. They were all too busy chatting about their hair or skin-tight jeans or whatever. I really tried hard not to pay attention.

I had exactly five and half minutes to inhale my lunch before my drop-dead-I-have-to-get-out-of-here-to-make-my-really-really-really-important-meeting time.

To be honest, the burger wasn’t that bad. Topped with decent onion rings, a little ranch dressing and good thick bacon, it was better than average.

Of course, as fast as I ate it, I can’t really be sure.

As I looked around the bar and the patio, I started to ease my mind a bit. The patrons were mostly normal looking couples. A few edgy college-aged types. But nothing that screamed, “Hey, Suit757, get the hell out of here -- NOW!!!”

The décor didn’t cause much alarm either. Coke and beer signs and Texas license plates on the wall. All very Lone Star. All very manly.

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid”, I thought, as I crammed the last hunk of beef into my mouth and grunted for my prancing bartender to bring me the check.

Just as I was started to feel a little better about the place, I made a mad dash for the men’s room to hose the burger grease off and make myself somewhat presentable.

That’s when I saw it. The unmistakable Texas state outline on a poster decorating the men’s room wall -- done up in tell-tale rainbow colors. An ad for some sort of "gala" event I’m sure I wouldn’t be interested in attending.

You might expect something like that up the road in Austin, where the hipster mantra is “Keep Austin weird.”

But deep in the heart of ol’ San Antone’? Just a few miles from the Alamo? Where Davey Crockett and 188 brave Texans chose to go down in a rain of fire and lead rather than surrender to Mexican tyrant Santa Anna in the hopes that one day their fellow Texans would be free and independent?

Somehow, I don’t think this is what Davey and the boys had in mind.

Rating: Clean Grill With Shirt.

Going Hollywood in a Bath Tub

Le Tub
1100 N. Ocean Dr.
Hollywood, FL
Visited September 17, 2010

Beer selection: Red, white and blue cans for the locals; a few Caribbean imports for the tourists.

Food: Cheeseburger in paradise!



Sometimes I just get lucky. Well, maybe it’s not ALL luck.

After all, 15 years of driving the byways and back roads of America have developed my keen sense of finding cool places to eat and drink.

Darwin would consider this some sort of survival instinct, I suppose.

I wasn’t holding out much hope here in Hollywood, Florida, as I crept along in Friday afternoon rush hour A1A traffic within the hell of BMWs, traffic lights and 30 story condos that is modern day South Florida.

I was on my way north toward the airport with the rare opportunity of time for a decent non-airport-hot-dog-roller-meal.

Unfortunately everything I passed consisted of fancy looking, Italian-named bistros patrolled by that most annoying of all human species – the valet parking dork.

Suit757 does NOT do valet parking. I’d rather starve.

Or even subject myself to a McDonald’s drive-through.

Just as I was about to give up all hope and start looking for golden arches, I spotted a bright yellow hand-painted sign out of the corner of my eye.

“Great Burgers”.

Narrowly escaping death from both the BMWs barreling down on me from behind and the lanes of on-coming German-engineered traffic, I slammed on the brakes and veered sharp to the left across two lanes of A1A into the parking lot of “Le Tub”.

I pulled right into a vacant spot. I sat there for a second bracing myself for the inevitable over-zealous pleated pants valet boy to come running over screaming at me, pounding on the driver’s-side window and demanding the keys to my Chevy Cobalt rental.

But it never happened.

Nope. Le Tub isn’t the kind of place that does valet parking.

It’s my kind of place.

On the site of a former gas station, Le Tub is a cobbled together mishmash of weathered wood and flotsam & jetsam assembled over the years by the place’s proud owner right over the Intercoastal.

Hidden from A1A by mangrove and tropical shrubbery, the place is an outdoor maze of beaten up picnic tables, some cozy and hidden in the greenery, others open to the sun and the water.

But the entire place is open air. There is no “inside”.

It’s the kind of hidden waterfront gem you dream about when you are visiting Florida, but that has become all too scarce in the mad rush to pave over every square inch of Florida waterfront with condos for New York refugees.

The fact that a funky, divey little joint right on the water like Le Tub hasn’t already been bull dozed has got to be some sort of minor miracle.

Needless to say, I am probably the first person in the 32 year history of the place to have dined there in a suit.

It’s a locals' kind of place. Unless you count the antique bathtub painted “Le Tub” in bright yellow out front, the place doesn’t even advertise itself.

But somehow, word has gotten out.

As I perused the salt-worn copies of reviews posted on the clap-board siding, I noticed GQ named Le Tub’s burger the best in all of America. Even Oprah ate here.

I almost got up and left when I read that one.

But I’m glad I didn’t.

My menu choices were somewhat limited by Le Tub’s “no credit cards” policy which is plastered on every sign, wall and picnic table in the place.

You certainly can’t claim ignorance when the check comes.

But still, I would have run up a much bigger check if they had brought the place up to 20th Century standards.

Oh well, I shouldn’t criticize. I guess it’s all supposed to be part of Le Tub’s divey charm.

The problem is I never take more than $40 out of the ATM. And having driven the entire length of the Florida Turnpike earlier in the day, I had shelled out $16 in tolls to the state of Florida. (The government doesn’t take credit either.) That left exactly $24 for food, beer, tax and tip.

But I got my $24 worth.

First of all, the view was worth that alone. I had an unobstructed view of the water and setting sun. A Jamaican Red Stripe was definitely in order.

But it is the famous burger that elevated Le Tub to legendary shirt worthy status.

It is 13 oz of perfectly-charred-outside/pink-inside ground beef.

That is nearly an entire pound of dead cow!

Topped with cheese, lettuce, tomato and raw onion slices, it was the biggest burger I have ever attempted to wrap my mouth around. Literally, my jaw just wouldn’t open wide enough.

Cheeseburger in paradise indeed! Juices dripping all over the paper plate, it was burger perfection.

Fearing the thought of coming up short on cash, I had to slum it on my second beer, ordering a Miller Lite in the can (which it turns out was only $1 less than the Red Stripe).

Most of the rough-neck-looking locals at the bar were drinking beer from the can. So I felt right at home. Until I remembered I was sitting there in a suit.

Oh well.

That’s what this is all about – Suits in Strange Places.

I’d say me, sitting there in my Hart Schaffner & Marx, soaking up the sun and salt air at an oasis of a weathered waterfront working-class bath tub-themed burger and beer joint, within a desert of relocated Yankee pretention, fits the bill just perfectly.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

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Served by Angels at Angelos outside of Angeles

Angelos Drive In Hamburgers

511 South State College Boulevard
Anaheim, California 92806




Food: Hamburger Joint

Fact: SuiteOchoCinco loves ground up cow and thick sliced pig

Fact: The Los Angeles area is a bankrupt bastion of liberal dogmatic ideologues bought and paid for by Big Labor

Fact: The Los Angeles area is a filthy, smoggy, disgusting crime ridden cess pool

Fact: The Anaheim area is a beautiful, thriving and decent place to visit

Fact: The Anaheim area is the only Conservative stronghold in the entire state

You do the math.

After taking 6 straight trips below the Mason Dixon, it was time for SuitOchoCinco to venture westward… and there is nothing I like better than 4 hour flights surrounded by the craziest people the world has to offer.

First crazy number one boards the plane and begins to take others peoples luggage out of the over head bins in order to put hers up???? Leaving the others on the floor???? Second, crazy number two (and owner of said bags now on the floor) loses his proverbial crap and flips a trip on crazy number one, verbally demoralizing her into her crazy cocoon (her seat next to me) then takes his seat.

Throughout the flight in my seat that didn’t recline, crazy two bobs her crazy head up and down and onto my shoulder while she falls asleep and mumbles incessantly, but crazy number one cant be out done and snaps his thumb to his music, hits people on the back that walk by because they brushed his outstretched elbow, gets up 8 times to get things out the overhead compartment, pushes the seat that is reclining in front of him forward so the gentlemen in that seat cant recline it, stands on 4 separate occasions to do “arm circles” and upon finally falling asleep, snores louder that the new Sun Chips Biodegradable bag (trust me, that’s loud)

Arriving in Orange County I was pleasantly surprised for one reason... it wasnt LA....

I searched for several days for a “joint” worthy of visiting...finally a local steers me to “Angelos Drive In Hamburgers” a nearly 50 year old drive in burger joint.

More Facts:

Old is good

Food served in wax paper 9 times out of 10 is wicked good

Moderately trashy exterior usually means great food

Gaudy paint schemes and plywood guarantee the burger is going to be ridiculous

Beautiful Carhops in mini skirts on roller skates means I am staying to watch the game

I pull up and I smile, it looks like a dive… awesome…
I park my Ford “amazingly enough we didn’t take a bailout but we are still controlled by union cronyism” Focus and shuffle into this mecca of slaughtered cow.

I immediately greeted by not one, not two, but three beautiful brunettes speeding past me in mini skirts on roller skates, their greeting left me reminiscent of the southern style hospitality I had grown so used to lately.


I was ushered to a booth and perused the menu, two of the “carhops” stopped by the booth and in a Doublemint twins stereo falsetto asked “what can we get you… (insert giggle)” I asked my regular question, the question that usually defines whether it will be a good experience or a bad… “What are you known for?” With out skipping a beat Doublemint Twin Two says, “Our Guacamole Bacon Cheeseburger” “OH!!” she exclaimed, “and it comes in a discounted basket with hand cut Onion Rings!!” awesome service… awesome...

I order said burger and onion rings and proceed to watch the Anaheim Angels get shellacked by the Boston Red Sox… (my team)… while enjoying a nice cold beer and reveling in the displeasure emanating from the mouths of the local Anaheimians every time the BoSox cram another run down the Angels throats.

A very short time later my burger arrives perfectly wrapped in wax paper, surrounded by monstrous fresh onion rings and with chili peppers on the side… wow… baseball, woman, burgers, fried food, beer… I am beginning to wonder if all of this is even possible? Being that I am in the land of the corrupt and twisted Barbara Boxer… alas I pinch myself and proceed to take my first bite… abso-freakin-lutely awesome… the guac is obviously fresh and the strips of bacon are perfectly cooked, the beef is 50 times removed from “McDonalds garbage meat” and the cheese is dripping of the side of the bun… this is heaven… I cant say enough…

I pop a few chilis in my mouth and move to try the O-Rings… first of all… these things are ginormus, the size of an infants head, it took 12 bites to eat ONE…. This is freakin wicked awesome… love it… and filling… I didn’t look at the menu again, this one meal filled me to the rim…

Doublemint twin number one slyly placed the check on the table asking but answering her own question with her tone and head bob, “How was everything?” she knew… it was phenomenal… there was no doubt… and ready for the kicker? Total Bill: $8… yeah I said it…. Go to Angelos…. Now.

Rating: I would have bought the shirt if they had one