We were the third car in a 5 car parking lot at 11:15 AM. We weren't sure if the joint was open, but the couple waiting in the running car next to us led me to believe it wasn't. My dad walked in anyway as if to turn right around and come back. He said, "she's not ready yet...come in at 11:30." We took a quick tour of the East Lake neighborhood by circling the golf course before pulling back into our same parking space at 11:29 AM. One minute later the parking lot was full.
We quickly got out of the car to wait in the screened patio area until the "Closed" sign was flipped around. As I waited with my parents and sister, we met five other people waiting for the world famous Ghetto Burger. I had heard about Ann's rules and her militant demeanor that brought images of the Soup Nazi from the Seinfeld tv show.
The sign was flipped and cautiously we walked into the bar that could seat eight. Our group of four made occupied the eight stools and the couple of guys behind us were told to stay out. Ann laid down the law saying "stay on the patio...only eight at a time...the fire marshall says so." The setting will like a 36 year old cooking show without the modern appliances, luxury cooking surfaces and shiny serveware. The four of us sat at the bar and looked on as Ann prepared her two residential ovens, single tabletop grill and dual tabletop fryers resting on bricks for the day. Methodically she took previously used gallon jugs filled with homemade punch, tea and lemonade and set them on the counter. We were at her will as Divorce Court played on an end table next to the refridgerator and a couple space heaters provided warmth from atop horizontal freezers.
Fifteen minutes later she came to take our orders. I very carefully and gratefully asked for the infamous Ghetto Burger. The sign outside said it was "world famous", but I already knew that from it's number 1 ranking in the Wall Street Journal. The next 25 minutes we watched on as Ann meticulously constructed each of our eight meals.
First, a generous fistful of ground beef was thrown on the grill, two for my Ghetto Burger. Next, Old Bay was sprinkled on both sides before cut onions were poured over the tops of patties. Clumps of bacon were dropped into the fryers along with french fries. Before long sesame seed buns were laid out on a countertop I assume was original and just large enough to hold a row of four. Then, construction began.
A ladle full of chili from the stove was poured first, then a burger, then cheese, then another burger, then more cheese, then a clumb of bacon, then lettuce, then tomato, then onions, then ketchup, then mustard, then mayo. The crowning bun was pressed on top to complete the 2 pound feast.
Ms. Ann handed me a styrofoam cup of the sweetest tea poured from a reused water jug and a fork and knife with a styrofoam plate barely strong enough to hold the pile of food known as the Ghetto burger. Fortunately, the burger was sliced in half which served me as a marker of what I should eat there and what should be taken home. Oh it was glorious as I cut into it with my plastic fork and knife bite by bite.
As for Ann, she turned out to be a much nicer lady than I had imagined. Although she won't put up with nonsense or trifling, she was very sweet. The 64 year-old single lady that started a snack bar in 1972 is an Atlanta legend of determination, consistency and perfection. You haven't lived until you have spent a couple hours at Ann's Snack Bar. You would be hardpressed to eat a meal there any quicker and the time you will spend seeing a real life hero is priceless. Having a meal there with my family was the perfect way to close what has been the incredible year of 2007.