At the Nut House

Damn you, Roy's.

I've been craving Roy's Big Burger since I got back from the beach last week without having made a stop at Dune Burger. Only problem was that once I found a friend willing to take me there, Roy's was closed.

Good god, Roy's, what self-respecting burger joint closes at 4:00 on the weekends?

With his taste buds all set for a burger, Friend insisted we make the best of our bad luck, so we ended up at Five Guys, which is nothing like the same but at least scratched the itch for greasy. You really can't compare a foil-wrapped burger to one wrapped in parchment paper with grease spots galore.

And don't get me started on the loss of one of Roy's mammoth chocolate shakes.

Once fed (if not fully satisfied), we walked over to Coalition Theater for tonight's Riot! show, featuring the Pigeon, da Vinci and Ambassador teams doing their best to improv us into Saturday night laughter.

Because of our burger delay, we walked in just as the show was starting, hearing the dire warning that the bar was down to just two Diet Cokes. While I wouldn't drink a Diet Coke if you paid me, my companion sucks them down regularly along with those cancer-causing packs of artificial sweetener I continue to insist will eventually kill him.

But I digress.

The Pigeon team took (lame) inspiration from an audience member calling out "Hunger Games" (and sounding more than a little embarrassed at having suggested it) and next thing we knew, we were at a gaming convention with a chubby guy ("He's not chubby!") taking names at the door and Princess Willow Whisper wowing him.

While I have absolutely no frame of reference for gamers or dating apps, funny is funny.

We heard about "Bumble," which was "like Tinder but girls have to swipe you first" ("Sounds like a horrible idea" - from a guy, of course) and how the judges eliminated a guy because his BMI was too high ("What? I'm 5'11" and 312 pounds!"). Only guys make so many fat jokes.

At the convention bar, mead (of course) was served with power crystals on request and wizard cops made random arrests ("That cave was a known hangout for crack dragons").

Pity the Ambassador team who had to get started with nothing more than "mirror" for inspiration ("What's something you find in an antique shop?") and somehow devolved into a story of real-life mannequins, missing children and pot smoking in the thrift store stock room.

Don't ask me how their minds work; it's just our job to laugh.

Acronyms flew (tt = turntable, IB = incense burner, pp = peace pipe) and before long, '70s clichés abounded while "Dark Side of the Moon" played. "Did you feel that? That was you killing the vibe and harshing my mellow."

Before it was all over, live mannequins were cutting off their genitalia (per Dad's instructions), killing cats (ditto) and being posed with obscene and Nazi-like gestures. Clearly, mirror was a challenging starting point.

The da Vinci team began brilliantly with a nerdy science couple discussing how they'd met over a geological dig. Her apple ass had been seductively clad in J Lo Glow jeans (I have no clue if this was really a thing or the joke was on me) as she leaned over a hole in the dirt and he'd had an article published in "Mineral Monthly," meaning they were a match made in heaven.

Later, a pregnant woman is distraught because she wants a celebrity at the birth of her child but none are available. They settle for an extra on JAG (yes, I had to ask my friend what "JAG" was) until she proves herself unworthy, but fortunately George Clooney's butt double on "ER" shows up.

That's not really a thing, right? Or does George really have a butter butt?

Along the way, we saw a scene from Black Friday at Wild Birds Unlimited - who buys a blue parakeet with a wonky eye?- and meet a woman who did squirrel voiceovers - "What you talkin' about, there ain't no nuts!"

But the cleverest bit involved a woman who'd fallen in love with a pre-Venetian chair and was trying to deal with her addiction through a 12-step program. Stop stroking the chair's cushion.

Yes, she was a recovering chairaholic. Their motto? "If you're not sitting, you're living."

Light up the IB. I feel another laugh attack coming on.

Want a Shake with Those Fries?

Roy's Big Burger delivers so much more.

And on a day when I was craving a quick cheeseburger, I knew I could duck in, eat in my car while reading the Post and be on my way easily.

I've posted before about how it always seems to be men sitting in their cars at Roy's, but today I joined a woman waiting for her order.

Within a minute, a long-haired older guy joined us.

Still, that's the evenest odds (gender-wise) I've ever been a party to at Roy's

But once I had my cheeseburger (all the way) and fries, I made for my car and newspaper, barely getting into my seat before pulling out a fry.

It needed salt.

Opening the car door quickly, I almost ram it into a vehicle pulling suddenly into the space next to me.

But he finally saw me, stopped and I went to grab a salt packet.

Back in my car, it was time to pull out the greasy waxed paper-wrapped burger and feed my blood.

I was holding the good-sized burger with both hands and had just taken a far-from-ladylike bite when the guy from the car next to me walked up.

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt your lunch," he says smiling and I chew frantically a bite too large for my mouth. "Are you dating anyone?"

I struggle to swallow; he apologizes. "I'm sorry. Is that too forward?"

Yes, I tell him, asking if he always asks out women he almost mows down. "No, but I find you very attractive," he explains, "So I thought it was worth a shot."

I clarify my status to him and he is nothing if not persistent.

Writing his name and number down, he goes in for the big finish. "Have a nice lunch. I hope I hear from you."

Damn.

I know I'm lucky that such random things happen to me.

Double damn.

My cheeseburger is cold.

A Happy Meal

Everyone has a preference for what needs to be eaten the day after an overly indulgent evening.

Personally, I think a cheeseburger does the job better than anything else. And if I'm in need of a nice, fatty burger, one guaranteed to leave grease stains on the paper it's wrapped in, Roy's Big Burger is my default.

By the time I rolled up, the mad lunch rush was over and there were just a few people standing around waiting for their orders.  

A cute couple was smooching under the shade of the overhang and two business women were making catty remarks about a co-worker. That made for more females than I've ever seen at Roy's at one time. Maybe the male-only hours end at 2:00 or something.

Much as I love Roy's milkshakes, today was a day that this non-coffee drinker needed caffeine, so I got a Coke with my cheeseburger and fries.

I rolled my eyes when the two women's order got called out: two double cheeseburgers, large onion rings, large fries, a water and a Diet Coke. Not that it's any of my business, but I tend to judge that kind of twisted logic with bemusement.

Ready to mainline my Rx, I took the bag to the shaded place in the back parking lot to enjoy my meal while reading today's Washington Post.

Thanks, Roy's, for once again saving me from myself. There's a particular pleasure in treating one indulgence with another. 

Color me satisfied on any number of levels at this moment...and not just about getting my Roy's fix.

Beaten by a Roy's Chocolate Shake

When you throw a post out into the blogosphere, you never know how it will resonate.

Some posts are hot for a day or a week or, with a controversial one, even months (the one about EatingRichmond will seemingly never die).

And sometimes I have to think that it's the subject that makes it a perennial favorite. Two of my most consistently popular pages are the one about Roy's Big Burger, here, and the one about the Grill at Patterson and Libbie, here. Months after they were written, readers continue to find them and sometimes even comment on them.

Such was the case recently with the Roy's post and the reader must have liked what he read because he became a follower.

In fact, reading his tribute to Roy's got me in the mood for grease-soaked parchment paper with a cheeseburger inside enjoyed from within the confines of my car. You know, the true Roy's experience.

It wasn't hard to find a willing partner for a late afternoon burger, at least not once I mentioned it would be at Roy's.

Turns out my friend had had many a childhood burger there, although never a milkshake. Once I described the shakes to him, he was all about a 3:00 "snack."

At the point when the cashier asked him whether he wanted a large or small shake, he looked confused. The cook in the back held up the small cup for reference's sake and Friend at least had the sense to guffaw.

"Large, please," he said with the false authority of someone who had never tasted their milkshakes. He was sure he could conquer a large.

Once I had come up for air after inhaling my cheeseburger and half the large fries, he glanced over at me. "Ketchup on your lip," he told me, crumpling his paper.

"Milkshake only half-gone," I reminded him, knowing his issue was less easily solved than mine.

Handing him the milkshake's still-plentiful remains when I dropped him off, he looked beaten. "Can't do it," he admitted.

Many can start, but not all can finish. Roy's milkshakes. Yea, that's what I was talking about.

I'll Take History Over Football

No, I don't really care about football, but before you write me off as a girly girl, I understand the game, can follow and even appreciate it on occasion and was raised in a family of season ticket-holders, so I've been to my fair share of NFL games (and shivered my way through three hours on the 50-yard line).

I just can't be bothered anymore.

But today would have been the annual Armstrong-Walker Football Classic, a long-time Richmond tradition I'd heard about from several old-timers in my neighborhood (yet another perk of living in such a diverse 'hood).

The two schools began the tradition in 1938 and it ended in 1978 with Walker's closing.

Last year the event was revived with two semi-pro teams playing as a fundraiser at VUU. Noble, but not quite the same.

The rivalry between these two once-exclusively black schools was apparently legendary and the Classic and its attendant events a cultural phenomena that used to draw 25,000+ fans to the traditional Saturday after Thanksgiving game and festivities.

So while I had no interest in attending today's game, it seemed like an ideal time to check out the Pride Over Prejudice: Armstrong and Maggie L. Walker High Schools in Their Time exhibit at the Black History Museum.

But not until after a trip to Roy's Big Burger where, once again, everyone eating in their cars was male. I just don't get it. Girls like cheeseburgers, too; I know it..

But I digress.

I'm a sucker for historical exhibits full of photographs and artifacts and this one, given its local angle, had plenty of both.

Armstrong opened first as an all-black school but quickly became overcrowded, necessitating double shifts for students for five years.

Walker was built in 1938 to alleviate the overcrowding and was more of a vocational school whereas Armstrong was more academically-oriented.

And by vocational, I mean these kids were being taught all the best trades of the day: shoe-repairing, tailoring, masonry, barbering as well as the usual beauty shop and cooking skills.

Significantly, Walker was also the first Virginia school to have an African-American principal and faculty.

Photographs from Armstrong's yearbook showed a smiling group of Cafeteria Staff Custodians and another of them passing out 35-cent hot lunches to students in line.

Students in Armstrong's cooking classes all wore the traditional toque blanche.

They took classes in Negro History long before African-American studies was even a blip on the horizon.

It was interesting to see the progression of the students' and faculty's hair and clothing style as the cultural revolution of the 60s showed itself in their evolving looks.

Afros got bigger and bigger (including L. Doug Wilder's) and demure skirts and blouses gave way to girls in bell-bottoms and guys in fringed vests and platform shoes.

Early photos from school dances (some at the Mosque) showed the girls in full-length formals with tiaras, while later ones showed a guy in tight jeans doing a split in the middle of the dance floor.

The times they were a-changing.

The exhibit is well worth seeing for the slice-of-life look at Richmond teenagers as well as the peek into how the faculty of these two black schools mitigated the effects of "separate but equal" and the prejudice still so much a part of this city's culture right up through the 70s.

And as long as you're there, don't miss the permanent exhibit on my beloved Jackson Ward.

Be sure to take note that the decorative ironwork along Clay Street's Italianate houses is the largest concentration of ironwork in the state (and some of the finest in the country).

Since I live only a few blocks down Clay Street in one of those Italianate houses with the decorative ironwork, feel free to wave as you leave the museum.

And you can know that, in spirit anyway, I'm welcoming you to RVA's best (and most architecturally intact) neighborhood, J-Ward.

Come back soon.

Roy's Big Burger Delivers

Months after being advised to visit Roy's Big Burger, here, I finally made it to Northside for lunch there.

Anticipating long lines and men eating in their cars, we were surprised not to find the former but amazed to see the latter in spades.

There were two lone people waiting for pick-up when we arrived, but that was it.

I didn't even know they did hot dogs, but obviously I wasn't at a place called Roy's Big Burger for a dog.

Nope, I wanted a cheeseburger with grilled onions (my favorite burger add-on), fries and a chocolate shake.

The only difference between my friend's cheeseburger and mine was in the condiment department; I opted out of mayo and he declined ketchup.

We admired the rock sitting next to RBB's order checks (a legal pad), labeled "Security Department."

No doubt a deterrent, I have to assume that that's just how things are done in Lakeside.

Standing there waiting for our number to come up, I admired the simplicity of Roy's, a place that looks virtually unchanged from the vintage photograph of it in the window.

You know, the one with the sign advertising "35-cent quarter pound burgers on Merita rolls."

The car in the picture is clearly of another gas-guzzling era and the customers milling about are distinguished by how much better dressed they were than today's customers.

Well, that and none of them were obese.

When our order was ready, we took it to nearby Bryan Park rather than join the parking lot lunchers, who really were all men.

It's one thing to eat in your car at John's Drive-in at the beach with the ocean just across the street, but frankly there wasn't much appealing about eating alongside scenic Lakeside Avenue.

Shelter #3, on the other hand, provided tables and a shady escape on a sunny day.

I loved that the shelter had two enormous fireplaces at either end.

My friend commented on how wonderful and warm it would be in that shelter with both of them going on a cold day, making for a warm cold day.

That reminded me of how in my college days when my electricity was included in my rent, I would run the a/c but have all the windows open, to enjoy cool heat.

Luckily I outgrew that frivolous habit, but I think the concept is similar.

The glassless windows provided park views all around us.

It was a most pleasant place to unwrap our parchment paper-wrapped burgers and start sipping possibly the darkest chocolate shake I've ever sucked trhough a straw.

I don't know what I appreciated more, my greasy fingers or the grease stain left by my burger on the paper.

Either way, I scarfed mine down, along with fries and way too much milkshake (the beauty of which is enjoying dessert right along with the meal) while my manly friend ate only part of his burger and then wrapped up the rest for later.

So much for my dainty feminine appetite.

Afterwards, we watched two guys with red mohawks playing Frisbee golf and a less distinct-looking group of guys throwing things at a tree trying to retrieve someone's disc.

I'm no athlete, but clearly there are different hazards to Frisbee golf than the ball kind.

The only hazard to Roy's that my friend and I could think of was that a meal like that might put a person in need of a nap.

Or a coronary bypass, but the nap sounds so much more enticing.