During the summer of 1990 me, my older brother, his GF Janet, and this girl I was white knighting named Misty who was a dancer at Big Al's, all lived in a rented house near Bradley University in Peoria IL. I was selling weed, Janet worked at Denny's and my brother worked at Steak & Shake. Janet had acquired a few cases of mozzarella sticks from her work and my brother acquired two big bags of frozen burger pucks from Steak & Shake. The cooking technique for the burgers was to fry them on one side until they were thawed and then flip and smash them flat with the industrial spatula that my bro was smart enough to borrow as well.
We were living like fucking kings, burgers and cheese sticks every day. Double or triple burgers with cheese sticks in between patties at first, down to just basic hamburgers with mustard. By late August the good times were nearing their inevitable end though. Misty had broken my heart for the last time, a noise complaint led to arrests for the stolen street signs decorating the living room and an eviction notice, and the burgers were all gone.
Everyone went their separate ways, me down to Carbondale to sell weed and study accounting at SIU, my brother and Janet split up, and Misty continued sucking off any random customer who had cocaine to share.
To this day whenever I see a Steak & Shake it reminds me of that glorious summer. I can still smell the mix of weed, cigarettes, stale beer, stripper perfume, and fried burgers from inside that little rental house. I can't put my finger on it, but the few Steak & Shake burgers I've had since haven't tasted near as good as they did when cooked in that dirty kitchen next to the pile of Hefty bags filled with empty cans.