Animal Fries

On Friday I drove to Lake Tahoe and back. I had delayed my trip from Thursday due to a snowstorm, but on Friday it abated and I headed up I-80 from Berkeley with great expectations of seeing the Sierras covered with a fresh carpet of the first winter snow.  I had not been to the mountains in almost ten years (that seemed hard to believe) and the sight of them on this beautiful sunny day with their fresh dusting of snow, the branches of the trees still sagging under the weight, was truly inspiring.  Driving down 89 from Truckee the temperature outside plunged to 2 degrees, and then I caught my first glimpse of the lake looming ahead through the trees.  This, I felt, was certainly one of the things that made life worth living.

I found my way to my destination in Incline Village, a law office which had become my latest customer, one that specializes in intellectual property law—patents, trademarks and copyrights—not something for which I imagined there would be much demand in Lake Tahoe.  I didn’t get to meet the lawyer herself—Lara Pearson—but the impression I got from being in the office was one of competence and caring, so if you ever happen to create something which requires intellectual property protection while you are in Lake Tahoe, I highly recommend them.  They also like to ski—and if you are in a skiing accident I imagine they could handle that also. 

My tasks completed, I decided to try my luck at a little blackjack. I didn’t expect to win anything, but part of me thinks its possible.  Back in the early 1970’s I had a college friend, Gary Blasdel, who read the famous book Beat the Dealer, which described a technique involving card counting which supposedly tips the odds slightly in favor of the player, under certain circumstances.  Gary actually wrote a computer program which told you whether to hit or stand depending on which cards you and the dealer held, and had rented a computer terminal which he installed in his apartment. The terminal was connected to a mainframe somewhere via his phone line (this was long before personal computers, of course). The idea was that someone at the blackjack table would keep track of each card as it came up and relay that to someone in a phone booth who would relay it to a person in the apartment who would type it into the computer which would transmit it to the mainframe which would calculate the next move and send the appropriate strategy back via the same chain of command. Does this sound workable? Somehow he thought it did.  I don’t remember how the person at the table was going to signal the person in the phone booth—I think it was a hidden microphone in the hair, or something like that.  Of course the plan never got off the ground. Gary probably should have had his head examined, but instead he went on to examine other people’s heads, becoming a noted brain researcher at Harvard.  In the meantime, we had an excuse to make many trips to Tahoe.

This particular blackjack endeavor was more an exercise in nostalgia than a serious money-making operation.  I visited the three main casinos at Northshore—the Hyatt, Cal Neva, and the Biltmore—resolving to lose no more than $40.00 at each. That task was accomplished rather quickly at the first two; the Biltmore required a bit more time, perhaps 45 minutes or so.  All three places, midday Friday, were completely dead.  I was the only player at Cal Neva, and the other two had only a handful of players and a skeleton crew of dealers.  A depressing scene. 

Not having eaten yet, I thought maybe one of the casinos would have a lavish all-you-can-eat buffet of the type I remember from my earlier days, such as at the Sahara Tahoe at Stateline.  No such thing.  So, after a short walk on the shore of the lake, I headed off to Truckee where I had heard there were some decent restaurants. The little downtown was lively and cute enough, but it was only 4 pm and everything was either closed or unappealing.  Plus, on this the shortest day of the year I didn’t want to drive down the mountains in the dark, so I decided to head back down 80.  Besides, I knew that when I reached Auburn I would be greeted by the bright red and yellow colors of an In-N-Out Burger. Long my favorite (and virtually only) fast food indulgence, In-N-Out is a cultural phenomena which to illuminate fully would require talents greater than my own.  Suffice it to say that to mention it in the same breath as MacDonalds would be to commit a sin of incalculable gravity.

Exiting the freeway, the In-N-Out was up a slight hill, and there was a line of cars backed up waiting to get into the parking lot. Obviously, this was the main attraction in Auburn. Once inside, there was another line at the cash registers.  It was interesting to observe the mass of humanity. MacDonalds has always seemed to me the dining choice of last resort; there is no joy waiting in line there. But here there was a different esprit. These were regular people of all ages, sizes, shapes and origins–united in their appreciation, desire and anticipation for getting what is simply the best burger available from people whose mission was to supply just that, and nothing more. Spare the frills, the marketing gimmicks, the fake happy faces.  The only happy faces were those of the customers biting into their burger. 

I ordered my taste of heaven and then, as everything is cooked to order, stood around waiting and watching.  I noticed several people getting orders of fries that looked different—they were slathered with some kind of sauce and what looked like fried onions. Mine were just the regular ones, but they were perfect.  The potatoes are sliced fresh daily and have been cooked transfat-free since the first In-N-Out opened in 1948.   And the employees all looked busy and contented—according to Wikipedia, pay starts at $10.50 an hour, well over minimum wage.

Back on the freeway, I continued following the stream of lights back to the Bay Area. I needed more gas, so decided to fill up in Vacaville.  Once just an insignificant stop between Sacramento and Vallejo, known for its penal colony, it now seems like a vast expanse of shopping malls and fast food restaurants.  Where do the people live?  A mystery.  There was another In-N-Out Burger, and I was still a little hungry, so I stopped for a second round—this time just a burger, no fries.  Next door I noticed an Applebys—a place I have never been, but I’ll have to admit, it looked kind of cute…no, stop!  That would be going too far!  One should stick to one’s principles and never eat in a restaurant whose stock is publicly traded!   (Fortunately, In-N-Out has always been privately owned).

The next day I checked the In-N-Out website to find out about those mystery fries.  Finding nothing, I sent them an email.  Later that day (on a Saturday no less) I received a nice reply:

Dear Mr. Shimosky:

Thank you for taking the time to contact us.  We sincerely appreciate your interest.

In response to your question, we have a couple of requested variations for our fries, such as “Animal Fries” and “Cheese Fries,” which do not appear on our menu.  For an additional charge, our Animal Fries are topped with 2 slices of melted American cheese, spread, and grilled onions.  Our “Cheese Fries” are topped with only 2 slices of American cheese.     

For questions or price information, please feel free to contact our toll-free Customer Service line at (800) 786-1000.

Sincerely,

Krista Curtis
Customer Service Representative

Animal fries?   Unfortunately we don’t have an In-N-Out Burger in Berkeley, so I can’t run out and order some right away, but soon…

By the way, there is an In-N-Out Burger in Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco—surely the only reason to visit that depraved region of the city.   Or, for a slightly more upscale burger (Niman Ranch beef, of course) made in the same spirit as In-N-Out, try Burger Joint on Valencia near 20^th—but the fries aren’t as good.

P.S. Almost a year later I finally ordered the animal fries. They were the most disgusting thing imaginable.

~ by PB on December 23, 2007.