Hunt for the Space Burger
Some things, like the Grateful Dead or monster truck rallies, can only be experienced in person. Fleeting, ephemeral events that exist for scant few hours and vanish when the sun rises. Some foods are like that as well. They can only be had at specific times of the year in specific places, like the Mardi Gras king cake or the fabled Christmas fruitcake grandma sends in the winter. Such is the humble space burger of Grant County, Washington.
A little history before we begin. In 1962, Seattle hosted the World's Fair. For whatever reason, they decided on a space theme, creating the famous skyline with the Needle and providing to the public "space burgers." I will describe them in detail later, but a special machine created the saucer-shaped sandwich. In 1964, the machines had moved for whatever reason to Grant County, some one-hundred-and-seventy miles east, where they had become a fixture at the county fair in August.
After reading about the sandwich a few months ago, I checked for when the Grant County Fair was to begin. Still August. Then, when telling a friend, showing the website, I saw they were available for a short time in March at an RV Show. I don't give a fuck about recreational vehicles or RV culture, but I wanted a space burger. I had a free weekend. So come last Friday I went to see John Wick 4 and the next morning set off to Moses Lake, home of the Grant County Fairgrounds and so much more.
If you have never driven from Seattle across eastern Washington state on I90, let me give you the general idea: psychotic city traffic, Twin Peaks, beautiful mountain vistas, a t-junction at a bridge, then Not Shit for hours.
The city driving is what it is: a gathering of people who learned to drive on boats taking wide drifting turns on highways made by people who were then thrown laughing madly into a life of padded rooms and jello.
Once out of that, the Cascades begin right around the city of North Bend, where you can see the waterfalls and get a slice of pie with a damn okay cup of coffee.
Late March, the scenery really begins as the snow has salted the top of the early peaks and covered the ones beyond. Flakes tapped on the windshield as I drove. To the right is a field of snow, possibly a river I did not keep count of, with a copse of pine trees rising like one of the islands on the Mississippi Mark Twain wrote where Tom and Huck and unsavory folk would play and hide. Snowy peaks continue for miles as I drive and my ears pop and the engine whines.
Then it is down and out of the white and green and into the brown. Later in the year vineyards are on the sides of the mountains, but now only slow turning windmills are the scenery.
The last feature on this stretch of I90 is a bridge that forces drivers to decide between Spokane and Boise, Idaho as the next large city. I drifted left, headed towards Lilac City.
Not Shit starts here, rolling brown farm land with far off houses. With a hope there's enough gas in the tank, there's no stopping until I see the temple announcing Moses Lake.
Moses Lake, Washington in many ways is an average small town. There is a main street area surrounded by older homes. That is surrounded by new growth, McMansions growing in cul de sacs like a uniform fungus connecting to the town center and the Interstate to steal nourishment from all around it. Manufacturing plants, farms, and an airbase feed and replenish the mostly white population of twenty-five thousand. On a street named Potato Hill Drive I saw a dune buggy pass headed toward what I can only assume is some kick ass dunes. Parks reign supreme on the "What to Do" attractions for Moses Lake, but when I tried to go to the Japanese Garden it was closed for the season. From there I headed to the fairgrounds where the space burgers were sold.
I can only imagine the horror and fascination other countries must have for the thing known as "the county fair." Grant County has a pretty professional set up for their fairgrounds. The standard animal pens and booths are found, but it is the arrangement that gives it a little pizzazz.
I found at least three separate entrances (Purple, Gold, and… let's call it Main) although there could have been more. I parked by the fairground office and walked among a selection of barns. Having been to the Mississippi State Fair and the Franklinton Fair growing up, my nose expected the pungent aroma of these cow, goat, and poultry barns, but they stood empty. There was no fair today, just the RV show, but I did hear the cries of some young animal being sold. The only animals about were those in search of space burgers.
Beyond the barns and the sounds of animals being inspected, a small village developed. Real or not the lanes between plywood buildings are named and follow a loose grid. There are booths, vendors selling popcorn and sandwiches and all manner of fried foods alongside cheap jewelry and souvenirs saying things like "I came to the Grant County Fair but the bitch fell off." At least I imagine this from my fair experience. All were closed and boarded up for the season. That includes the red, white and blue "Make America Great Again" booth that I can only assume sells bumper stickers and mugs with advice on equity and diversity plans for the future of the country. It was also closed, however.
Across from that booth was the Space burger booth. Sitting by itself, the little restaurant is blue with white trim. Laughter comes from within. A loose line forms, although the ordering process is swift so most are milling about waiting. I step up and look into the kitchen that takes me back to Christmas and Easters and Thanksgivings watching my family and friends prepare a communal meal. Some folks are on task. Some are laughing and talking. Some are in between, picking up the social and required work as needed. This is not a business but a labor of love between a group dedicated to a task one or two weekends out of the year to fund the Lady Lions club's yearly programs. Plus they get to hang out, gossip, and laugh.
A brown paper bag flies in my face as I attempt to order. The wind snatches it, and it flies back at the cashier. She plays with the dancing thing for a moment before catching it. She said to me, "Forget the bag or you don't get a burger." "I saw nothing," I said, and we shared a smile.
space burger with sprite for size with brown bag
The burger was five bucks flat, no tax. I got two in case I dropped one or it had a bug in it. Can't post that to the 'gram. The guy next to me ordered five. An article I read said that folks often order up to twenty. I am not here to judge. I grew up in the land of Waffle House and Krystals. I understand drunk food. People also order them without lettuce and freeze them. I also understand this, remember back to when Taco Bell would sell fifty cent tacos that could also be reheated as long as they didn't have lettuce. Let no man cast a frozen fast food order and all that.
The burger was okay. Imagine if Hot Pocket made a Big Mac version, but when you asked for it your mom said y'all had Big Mac Hot Pockets at home. Lettuce, ground meat, and thousand island style sauce all packed into a toasted white bread pocket.
Watching the making was the fascinating part. The above ingredients would be assembled. Then one of the four people would place the sandwich on a round molded dome press. The four hundred degree metal would then come down, cutting off the crusts and simultaneously toasting the bread and seeling the whole thing shut. It was then tossed in a wax paper bag and further tossed in the brown paper bag.
Overall, except for all the conservative and cult monuments, a great trip and a tasty burger.
A good time was had by all.