Guy Lancaster
The term “living fossil” sets my teeth on edge. After all, if a species remains present in our world, that means it continues to be adapted to its present environment, no matter how ancient its lineage. Scientists may have known about the coelacanth only by the fossil record prior to the discovery of living specimens off the coast of South Africa in the late 1930s, but that doesn’t make these fish mere archaisms that lack the good sense to die off and let folks turn the page. They stay around because they remain adapted to this world.
Thus Verna’s Bar and Grill, a little cinderblock box of a place out on Stagecoach Road right before it crosses west over I-430. Verna’s has occupied the same spot since 1963; some years back, it briefly changed ownership and operated under the name The Shady Lady, but it’s back to being Verna’s, owned and operated again by the Furrer family who founded it. Whatever the name, noon or night, I’ve always seen at least a half-dozen trucks parked in its gravel lot whenever I’ve passed by.
I’d been telling my friend Mark (who accompanied me on a previous burger venture to what was then J. Paul’s Express) that we needed to hit this place, and so one rainy Saturday in early February, he picked me up for a lunchtime trip to Verna’s. “Oh my god,” he said as we pulled into the parking lot. “I remember coming here, maybe 35 years ago. I’m not sure it’s changed.”
The inside, certainly, has not been the site of much innovation, save the two flat-screen televisions. An L-shaped bar with enough room for maybe half a dozen people occupied one quadrant of the inside, and there were a handful of tables for those needing space for more than just elbows and bottles. An old pool table took up a chunk of floor space on the end opposite the bar. There is also a back patio when warmer weather makes that an attractive proposition. And the men’s restroom had that classic sign reading, “My aim is to keep this bathroom clean. Your aim will help.”
The pale gray light washing in through the windows, the general sullenness of most of the men gathered there and the ancient cigarette smoke that pervaded the air lent the first few moments there a patina of bleakness, but everything brightened when our waitress (and barkeeper, and apparently also the cook that day) walked over to us, embodying every stereotype and archetype of the role, down to curly hair with just a touch of gray and well-worn tattoos. Had she called either of us “Hon,” the universe would have buckled under the weight of the cliches so assembled.
Guy LancasterMark ordered the double cheeseburger, because we came here for burgers, but when I saw a $5 fried bologna sandwich on the menu, I had to veer off course a bit, although I ordered some chili cheese fries to balance things out. Mark’s burger came with a steak knife through the middle, holding it all upright, although that bit of silverware soon proved more than just a high-end toothpick as his attempts to open his mouth around that tower failed.
Guy LancasterMy own sandwich proved more amenable to consumption, a nice thick slab of bologna fried up so that it was streaked with crispier bits, all served on loaf bread with lettuce and tomato. If there’s ever a sandwich that takes you back to younger days, it’s a fried bologna sandwich. Burgers might evolve as customers’ tastes shift, but a fried bologna sandwich remains ever the same, a point outside the normal concourse of time.
Guy LancasterHowever, I was mistaken to think I would need an order of chili cheese fries to balance out the meal. I didn’t know that coming my way was a veritable platter of the stuff, all topped with freshly chopped onion. I was only halfway through when the waitress came by with a to-go box, saying, “You’re doing pretty good work with those fries, but I can tell the rest are going home with you.” That night, sharing the warmed-up leftovers with me, the wife said, “These are so good. Why are you always taking Mark to these places and not me?”
My lunch of one fried bologna sandwich, chili cheese fries, and two bottles of Dos Equis set me back about $20, prior to tip. Not bad at all.
The next time we hit Verna’s was a sunny March day, but the inside was still as hazy, and the customers still as sullen, as during our previous visit. This time, I lined up a bacon cheeseburger and onion rings for myself, while Mark was determined to try the chili cheese dog with fries. Another round or two of beers rounded us off. While we waited, the music cycled through everything from “Tears in Heaven” to “Down with the Sickness.”
Guy LancasterMy burger was compact but delightfully messy; just looking at it, I lined up a few napkins for immediate beard polishing. To be clear, this wasn’t the kind of gut bomb that leaves you lounging like an anaconda that’s just horked down a deer and won’t be moving for the immediate future; this was satisfying, not overwhelming, the bacon crisp, the lettuce and tomato present more as a technicality to certify that yes, you’ve had some helping of vegetables today. It was all just enough, and sometimes, just enough is just right. The onion rings were perhaps slightly overcooked, but for my part that’s better than the opposite, with a single bite dragging all the goopy onion from the crusty shell. These had a nice clean bite to them.
Listen. Verna’s isn’t a trendy place. It wasn’t trendy when it started. This is the sort of joint that defies trends. Like the folk singer Utah Phillips used to say, “No matter how New Age you get, Old Age is gonna kick your ass.” All the term “living fossil” really means is “survivor.” And Verna’s has survived. Not by rethinking itself every few years like some places. But by staying the same. After all, there will always be a need for someplace to which people can retreat for a cold beer and a quiet cigarette and a greasy burger, all without judgment. Someplace for us living fossils who remember how the world used to be. And when that need arises, Verna’s will be there, as it always has been.
