Ask for "The Mailman." Then be quiet.

Joe's Hamburger Place

2423 Blanco Road

San Antonio, TX

Where do we start? Just look at this place. This is it. Two doors, one counter, five or six stools. One A.M. radio playing VERY conservative talk shows. Several VERY conservative posters / images adorning the walls. Think: "Jesus holding an American flag with a bald eagle on his shoulder," or "Jesus riding a bald eagle that's holding an American flag in its talons," or "Jesus clenching an American flag in his teeth while holding a bald eagle on a leash, and he's flying behind the bald eagle as if it were some kind of winged horse pulling a Jesus chariot."

This is the kind of place that only The Driver's brother could find. The kind of place about which the typically food-adventurous Mrs. Driver draws the line.

Inside are four or so guys ranging in age from 20 to 122. They don't say much. They're simple folk. Or maybe they just know better.

Behind the counter is a woman. She is somewhere between the ages of 70 and 97. She doesn't speak. She takes orders. She puts patties on the grill. She assembles burgers. When she does speak, it's to announce a price or to recite the names of a few soft drink options. One of these options is "Big Red." She calculates change longhand with a pencil on the formica counter. There are dozens of new and ancient addition and subtraction problems on said counter.

The grill probably outdates the building. I speculate silently that the building may have been constructed around the grill.

The brother advises me and Mr. Driver, Sr. to simply order "The Mailman." He doesn't know why. He's just been told. And it's worked for him before.

What happens next is fuzzy. A large, amorphous mass of beef is placed on the grill. Later, it is placed on a bun with some toppings. The cheese may or may not have been added when the patty was on the grill. Details are sketchy, as we were distracted by the scratchy voice of the ultra-conservative talk show host. And we dared not linger over the process -- let alone ask for clarification.

Why "The Mailman"? Is it what the mail carrier orders each day? Is it sized to satisfy the appetite of an archetypical "man" who spends his day trudging through metaphorical rain or sleet or snow or dark of night? Is it made from the remains of a postal worker who was foolish enough to ask for fries? Was he a dang liberal?

All you need to know, dear Reader, is that it was well worth the anxiety, the awkwardness and the disapproving looks from Mrs. Driver.