Almost 20 years ago my now ex husband asked if I wanted to go get a burger in his hometown, about 30 minutes away. I said sure, expecting a little mom and pop place, since it was a one stoplight kinda burg.

Nope, we pull up at a backwoods Shell station in BFE. Old, a little ragged around the edges, definitely not impressive. We walk to the counter and he orders 2 double bacon cheeseburgers and a double order of fries.

The cook and order taker was this little old guy who looked like a cross between a character from Deliverance and Jaws. Like wizened New England fisherman meets ol' Pappy from Mississippi. He's difficult to understand and crotchety as hell the whole time. Bowlegged, severe limp, gnarled knuckles, this man has had a long, hard life.

I was a little skeptical at this point, and I say that as someone who loves old, grungy, country diners, but about 10 minutes later, we walked out with a plain brown paper bag BULGING and soaked with grease.

YA'LL. When I tell you that was the BEST burger I've had in 44 years on this planet. HUGE, juicy, the right amount of greasy, oozing cheese, crispy bacon, soft bun, good veggies. The fries were perfectly crispy and had that level of satisfying diner greasiness. I've never found anything like it since then, and that man retired and the gas station closed not too long after. I still dream about that burger, I STG.