I was up in the attic of my parents house when my friend Larry broke an old picture frame that contained a map inscribed with mysterious Spanish riddles. What kind of map? Not Google or Bing; a treasure map, the kind that has singed edges and a large X. Blueprints, no doubt, for a brighter future.
I got up on my noble steed and headed west, with nothing but an extra pair of chonies and my favorite Jodi Picoult novel. And although mama told me reading was for the Devil, what mama don’t know won’t hurt her. Like getting that Roy Orbison tattoo on my buttocks straight out of middle school.
Put it this way: If you make the long, winding drive up to Big Bear and you happen to see four or five adult males standing outside of a restaurant thirty minutes before said restaurant opens, take that as a sign. Consider their earnest anticipation to be a reflection of the restaurant’s profound quality. Don’t you dare question it.
Big Bear might not sound like a culinary destination, but it contains more than one gem. Get the Burger—at least from the outside—looked like a restaurant that might be home to a rat colony or two. But it actually produced one of the better meat patties I’ve had.
And that was the true treasure. It wasn’t any monetary gain, or some beautiful pirate’s booty. It was a gorgeous monument of meat, grilled onions, and melted cheese. It took quite a bit of effort to climb Castle Rock. But the view, as you can see, was worth it.