"Dream Burger"

 

“Dream Burger”

New Jersey, 1989

            The “Kettle & Pot” diner had been running for three years near the turnpike. Its proprietors were the Kettleman siblings – Greg, a slightly overweight cook and the oldest; Andrew – the middle child, fit and handsome; and Debbie – the youngest, a lethargic yet attractive blond. Together, they invested a lot into the diner, but it had seen better days in its third year of service, with the wallpaper peeling off, gunk on the tables, and the leather cracking off the seats. They were losing more and more customers by the day. Regardless, they continued putting in the work.

            Well, Greg and Andrew did, at least. They made what they assumed to be their final investment with an automatic grinder. The UPS delivery boy left it outside the diner for the brothers to wheel in on a hand truck, while Debbie sat at the back corner, her eyes glued on the mounted TV set, per usual. She was engrossed in an episode of The Twilight Zone when suddenly…

            PLOOP!

            She jumped right off the bar stool with a loud yelp, feeling something drop down in the back of her denim cutoffs and she pulled it out afterwards.

            A pencil.

            Greg and Andrew, taking a momentary break from hauling the new grinder, stood and laughed as Debbie held the pencil in hand. “You jerks!” she snapped, slamming the pencil down on the counter.

            “Hey, hey! Not there!” Greg bellowed, rushing to remove the pencil from the counter and wipe the area down. “Now after where it’s been!”

            “I just showered!” Debbie argued.

            Andrew shook his head, snickering. Debbie would have been the perfect supermodel, if she applied herself. But, because she dropped out of high school at just a grade shy of graduating, she was left by the system to be a beautiful 22-year-old nobody who lived in the upstairs apartment with her two older brothers. Greg would have thrown her out on her own, had Andrew not took pity on her.

            Just as the brothers were about to get back to work, and their sister back to the TV, the door dinged from the arrival of a customer. There was always a fleeting wave of joy in the siblings when they heard it – “fleeting” because it would always be the same customer: Dave.

            A 37-year-old African-American construction worker who was currently involved in the development of a new movie theater just a few blocks from Kettle & Pot, Dave had been coming to the diner since its grand opening. The first day that the Kettlemans started serving customers, Dave came in with his wife, Jill, and then-two-year-old son, Terry.

            Debbie always enjoyed it whenever Dave brought Terry to the diner, just as much as Terry himself. “C’mere and give me a hug, Tweak!” She crouched down with her arms wide open in invitation. Terry rushed right up to her, wrapping his little arms around her neck. Debbie stood up, carrying him; he was a rather light little fellow for the five-foot-six Debbie. “Ready to play another round of Street Fighter?”

            “Yep!” Terry squeaked. “I’m ‘eady to kick yo butt!”

            “Terrence!” Dave scolded to the collective snickers of the Kettlemans. “That’s no way to speak to a lady!”

            “That’s alright, Dave,” Greg allowed. “Deb’s no lady.”

            His comment garnered a vulgar hand gesture from Debbie, with Terry mimicking the gesture, much to her amusement. They both went to the arcade machine below the mounted TV. Debbie settled Terry on the barstool that she previously occupied, so that he could comfortably operate the player-two controls, while she stood to his left and took position at the player-one controls.

            Dave watched on as their game started, delighted to see Debbie entertaining his son. She was more than a friend; she had become a big sister, perhaps even a mother. It had been a year since Jill passed away from a tragic car accident. Debbie was quick to step in, not necessarily as a replacement but a kind, tender soul to look after Terry while Dave was at work.

            All three Kettleman siblings pitched in to help care for “Tweak,” their nickname for Terry that somehow caught on around the neighborhood. Greg kept him fed, Andrew kept him educated, and Debbie kept him entertained. “You guys have done so much for us,” Dave told Greg and Andrew. “It just makes the idea of y’all losing the diner that much harder.”

            Andrew sighed in grief. “Yeah. And, to make things worse, Gary will be here in a few minutes for the final inspection.”

            Dave shook his head. “I can’t stand that dude.”

            “Feelin’s mutual,” Greg muttered while cooking up Dave’s usual – steak and eggs. “I’m not sayin’ that I wish somethin’ were to happen to him one day, but if it did, it sure would do a lot of us a favor.”

            The door dinged again and, just as before, there was that fleeting wave of joy.

            However, unlike Dave, this presence was accompanied by a whiff of rotten authority. Gary Roberts was a stick-like man, his thin frame swallowed by the white, pressed buttoned-up shirt and black slacks that he wore. His black hair was slicked to one side by a product that might as well have been motor oil from its odor. Thick-framed glasses with bottled lenses made his eyes buggier than E.T.’s. In one hand, he carried a clipboard and a pen.

            “Health inspector on deck!” He hollered on entrance, as if he were on a naval ship – not that he ever served in the navy. No one acknowledged his presence, as he gave the diner a quick, meaningless onceover and marked on the sheet clipped to his board that he handed over to Andrew. “And, to no one’s surprise, Kettle & Pot receives yet another ‘F’ grade!” He took revolting pride from the deed.

            Debbie half-turned from her gaming session with Terry, hearing Gary’s haughty announcement. It made her feel uneasy, knowing it to be the third “F” in a row, which resulted in immediate closure.

            “This is ridiculous, Gary, and you know it!” Andrew crumpled up the review, tossing it into the nearest trash bin. “You’ve had it in for our place, ever since you tried our clam chowder!”

            “That chowder was tainted!” Gary barked. “Because of your brother’s incompetence, I had diarrhea for three days!”

            “Whoa, whoa!” Dave objected, just about to dig into his steak and eggs. “T.M.I., dude! I’m eatin’ here!”

            “I don’t see why,” Gary criticized him. “Their food may just kill you one day!”

            “Well, then I’ll die a happy man,” Dave professed, shoving a piece of steak into his mouth.

            Regrettably, his proclamation made Terry turn away from his game and mutter in concern, “Ya ain’t gonna die, are ya, ‘addy?”

            “He was just jokin’, Tweak,” Debbie gingerly consoled him. “C’mon. You’re just about to kick my butt, remember?” It didn’t take much effort to get her five-year-old opponent to refocus on their session.

            Noticing Debbie there, Gary’s eyes locked on her. He didn’t care that he was ogling Greg and Andrew’s sister right in front of them. It wasn’t much of a surprise that he had feelings for Debbie; they clashed with his vitriol towards the diner. “H-Hey there, Debbie,” he stammered in a futile attempt at getting her attention. “How’s it goin’?”

            Debbie didn’t bother looking his way, instead keeping her attention on the game.

            “She’s not interested in jerks like you, Gary,” Greg said. “Especially not after what you blatantly said about Santa Claus in front of Tweak at our Christmas party last year. What kind of heartless monster does that, man? The lil’ fella lost his mom for goodness sakes!”

            “We all have to face the harshness of reality eventually, Greg – I’m just giving the kid a proper heads-up,” Gary coldly established. “Speaking of which, Andrew was right: this inspection is ridiculous. I just stopped by to let you losers know that your last legitimate inspection is coming in a few days…and I cannot wait to finally shut this rattrap down for good.”

            On that dour note, he left with an over-the-top cackle that was like a villain straight out of a Saturday Morning Cartoon.

            Late that night, Andrew was awakened from his slumber with the irresistible urge to pee. Getting out of bed to head to the bathroom, he heard some activity in the kitchen downstairs. Please don’t tell me we have a burglar now! It was the first assumption he made, his imagination racing with the possible physical description of the intruder – tall and muscular, wearing a black ski mask and armed with a crowbar…or worse…a gun!

            His only line of defense was a baseball bat; unfortunately, this one had to be his most prized possession – autographed by José Canseco himself. Well, if I don’t make it outta this alive, at least I’ll die with José by my side!

            Slowly and quietly, he moved downstairs and into the kitchen.

            What he found wasn’t a tall, muscular burglar in black, but Debbie – clad in a pink boxers and the same cropped pink tee she wore that day – standing over the stove and fixing herself a late-night snack. Too tired to even talk to her, he left her to her snack, not realizing that Debbie was cooking the entire meal unconsciously, her eyes totally closed.

            The next morning, Greg showed up to the kitchen to make the preparations for the day, despite the unlikely chance there would be any customers to show. He was suddenly stopped by the off-putting display of two dozen burgers freshly-stacked on the stove. The new grinder had been used, with bits of uncooked meat still on it. “What the…?!” Greg muttered, picking up one of the burgers to closely examine. He was just about to take a bite of it when he heard Andrew and Debbie’s feet rapidly coming down the old, rickety staircase.

            Greg directed their attention towards the kitchen by saying, “Either of you wanna explain this?”

            “Whoa!” Andrew exclaimed, seeing the burger stacks. “Deb, how hungry were you?”

            “Deb did all this?!” Greg balked. “She doesn’t even know how to burn toast!”

            Much as Debbie wanted to argue with that insulting remark, she admitted, “He’s not wrong. The only dude who spends the most time in this kitchen is Greg, and I only eat whatever he cooks.”

            “But I saw you in here last night cooking on the stove,” Andrew recalled.

            Debbie merely shrugged. “Not sure what to tell ya, bro. I don’t remember it.”

            “They’re probably not all that good anyway,” Greg surmised. Throwing his cleaning towel into the sink, he growled in frustration, “What a waste of beef!”

            The entrance dinged and Dave walked in with Terry. “Hey, guys,” he greeted the siblings. “I’m just here to drop off Tweak before I head off to the site. You know I—” He stopped midsentence to whiff the air. “Dang, Greg! Whatever you whipped up back there smells off-the-chain!”

            Greg was surprised by his reaction. “You really think so?” He never actually considered how the burgers smelled. To him, they smelled like any typical homemade hamburger. “You want one?” he asked Dave. “We got plenty.”

            “Heck yeah!” Dave happily consented. “Hit me with two!”

            Greg took two of the burgers off the stack and put them on a plate. He never served burgers without any French Fries, so he fried some up for Dave to have with the meal he ordered.

            One bite of his first burger and Dave’s eyes lit up. “Whoa! That is one tasty burger!” The Kettlemans were amused by this. Both Greg and Andrew looked right at Debbie, who herself was the most amused of them all.

            “Can I ‘ave a bite, ‘addy?” Terry requested.

            “Of course,” Dave permitted, giving his son the other burger for him to bite into. Just like his father, little Terry’s eyes burst from the overwhelming flavor. They both finished their burgers in under a minute. “I gotta take some for the boys at the site. Mind makin’ a few to go, Greg?”

            Greg could hardly believe the fortuitous circumstance. “You’re in luck, brother. I just happen to have more than a few in the kitchen, freshly made.” He sent Dave on his way with a couple of sacks carrying the burgers, each and every one wrapped in yellow deli paper, as if they were served in a McDonald’s.

            The burgers got the same reception from Dave’s coworkers, some of whom saved their share for their families to try. Before the Kettlemans knew it, word spread like wildfire about Kettle & Pot’s sensational burger that put both the Big Mac and Quarter Pounder to shame. New customers came in droves and the remaining burgers in Greg’s kitchen were sold out in a day, making the diner more money than it had ever made in the span of a month.

            “We need more of these ‘Dream Burgers’,” Andrew recommended without realizing that he had chosen the perfect name for their new product. “Deb, can you remember the ingredients you used?”

            “I told you guys that I don’t remember squat,” Debbie griped.

            This proved to be the only obstacle for the brothers and sister. They tried everything to jog Debbie’s memory, including hiring a hypnotist, but none of the methods worked. They hit a dead end, until Greg proposed, “We’ll just record her. It’s almost the 90s, for goodness sakes. We got the tech to figure this out.”

            It seemed like a sound idea to Andrew and Debbie.

            That night, Greg set up a tripod camcorder, being careful to place it somewhere that it wouldn’t be in Debbie’s way when she sleepwalked into the kitchen for her second night of sleep-cooking. It worked better than they hoped with Debbie and the kitchen in perfect frame, allowing them to see everything on the following morning.

            There Debbie was, clad in shorts and cropped tee, turning on the stove and putting on the skillet. She then placed the meat in the automatic grinder, afterwards seasoning the ground meat, forming it into individual patties, and sizzling them on the skillet. “Jeez, Debbie, you’re just as skilled at this as I am,” Greg noted. “You must be doin’ it through some sorta subconscious memory from watchin’ me…mimickin’ all my actions.”

            “That’s for certain,” Andrew said, pointing to the one part of the footage where Debbie was scratching her left butt cheek – the same place where Greg normally scratched his.

            Using the footage for reference, Greg was able to cook the burgers to nonstop customers that wanted to try Kettle & Pot’s Dream Burger. The siblings made enough money to afford many renovations, fixing all the blemishes the diner sustained over the last few years. They even threw in a new neon sign with the name and a cartoon kettle and pot design that Andrew had been wanting to show off.

            The diner was effectively new again. It was hardly recognizable to Gary, who showed up to the day of the Kettlemans’ final inspection, his mouth gaped wide at the overhauls and hordes of customers. Dumbfounded of the Kettlemans’ success, he pulled one customer – a young black man with a shaggy perm hairstyle and wearing a tie and hoodie – aside to inquire, “What’re all of you eating here that’s so good anyway?!”

            “It’s the Dream Burger,” the young man said. “Word is that it’s tastes so good, you can’t have just one.”

            “Hmph! We’ll see!” Gary scoffed, shoving through the scores of customers gathered outside.

            The inside of the diner was packed wall-to-wall. It looked vastly different from the last time Gary had seen it. No longer was it the decayed establishment that was stuck in a 1950s theme; it was like something out of Delmonico’s.

            It was so crowded that Andrew had to work as a maître d’, standing at a podium near the entrance to welcome the reserved guests. When he saw Gary storm in, he acted fast to block his path and tell him, “Excuse me, sir. No customers are permitted without a reservation.”

            “Reservation?!” Gary sneered. “You miscreants don’t have reservations!”

            “Well, we do now.” Andrew took great pride in belittling him.

            “This is absurd!” Gary howled, drawing attention from everyone in the venue. “Today is the day of your final inspection, in case you’ve forgotten! And I wish to eat this so-called ‘Dream Burger’ that I’ve heard about, and you will serve it to me for free! I will only pay when my taste buds tell me to!”

            Greg heard Gary make his self-centered demand all the way from the newly-renovated kitchen, which was now big enough for eight more cooks to help him serve the plethora of customers. He personally took it upon himself to fix Gary’s very own Dream Burger, requiring none of the aid of the hired cooks. He might’ve regretted that decision, once he dropped the salt shaker and accidentally banged his head on the cabinet as he attempted to retrieve it.

            Debbie, working as one of the uniformed waitresses, served Gary his burger at a table that he was forced to share with Dave and Terry. All eyes were on him as he ate, his first bite taking him on the same euphoric journey as so many others who tried it before. However, his consumption appeared to have captivated him more than anyone else.

            “More! I want more!” He shrilled with bits of his first meal still in his mouth.

            Greg whipped up another burger…and then another…and another…

            Gary consumed fifteen burgers total in five minutes.

            His slicked hair was out of place, his white pressed shirt was stained with ketchup and bits of onions and tomato, and his gut protruded, popping a few buttons. His clipboard dropped to the floor, and so did he after his fifteenth burger. Luckily, one of the other customers in attendance was a doctor who quickly responded.

            Unfortunately, Gary Roberts was pronounced dead right there on the spot.

            A week later, Kettle & Pot was still a rousing success, in spite of Gary’s death.

            His replacement was his sister, Daisy, who was the polar opposite of him. Beautiful and bespectacled, she was sweet and kind, if not a little shy. That much was certain when she tried to talk to Andrew after her first inspection. “Y-You wouldn’t happen to be busy t-this F-Friday, would you?” She mustered the courage to ask.

            Andrew had to admit she was much easier on the eyes than Gary ever was. Whereas her brother’s hair was slicked and reeked of motor oil, Daisy’s was bouncy and carried the succulent scent of honey oil. “Sure,” he agreed. “It’s a date.” She heavily blushed on the authentication of it being a date.

            “Gary may have been a jerk, but he was still human,” Debbie said. “We’re all very sorry for what happened, Daisy.”

            “What did happen to him?” Greg inquired.

            Adjusting her glasses, Daisy disclosed, “Well, the doctor who pronounced him dead said it was a heart attack, presumably from overindulging on the burgers.” She then made it pertinent to establish for the siblings, “I wouldn’t feel all that guilty, if I were you guys. Gary made a lot of enemies, myself included. I can’t tell you how many times he kept giving me wedgies or dropping pencils down my pants.”

            “Yeah, I can relate to that second one,” Debbie said, side-eyeing her brothers.

            “Ahem! If you’ll excuse me…” Greg stepped away in the awkward moment to go into his private office. Despite what Daisy had told them, something still nagged in the back of his mind about Gary’s death. So, he reviewed the surveillance footage from the kitchen that night, which showed him preparing the burger for Gary.

            That’s when he saw it.

            In the moment that he banged his head on the cabinet, a bottle of pesticide fell from the very top and right into the batch of meat in the automatic grinder. This one careless mistake may or may not have contributed to the death of one unpleasant, overbearing health inspector.