True story: My first time hearing about/experiencing this place was as the guest of the world's richest man (and his security detail) during a period of time that he and the other captains of industry with way too much money were busy dropping their pants and measuring as they competed to acquire my lightsaber services (note to self: Be more careful about making unintentional innuendos). I found it oddly charming how a guy worth more than most countries had decided to woo me on Seattle by taking me to a dive burger joint, which he proclaimed to be amongst his favorites. I remember leaving this place thinking that I had just had a deceptively amazing dining experience and had discovered a real gem of a burger joint.
Fast forward 13 years later, and my recent experiences with Dick's Drive-In have led me to one of two conclusions. Either:
A) My taste buds have evolved over the last decade+ or
B) Being around billionaires really does make the sun seem brighter, the air seem fresher, the world seem happier, and the food taste better. Which probably also means that their crap really *doesn't* stink.
I'm leaning towards option A, though I'm willing to be a guest of people who fall into category B again...you know, just to make sure. Preferably via a private jet to go spend 2 weeks at a private beach villa in the Greek Mediterranean. That would totally create an apples-to-apples experiment.
I get that this place is an icon and all, but really? This is going to go on the list as one of the 100 best things to eat in Seattle? Seriously? Just for posterity to honor "doing every item on the list after finding the list", I went there today and ordered the obligatory deluxe burger, fries, and chocolate malt (they can call it a shake all they like - it's a malt. Very Ovaltine-y).
You get there, you end up waiting in line, they almost never get your order right, they don't accept any form of plastic, and you end up having to perform advanced quadratic equations trying to figure out how many 5 cent tublets of condiments you're going to need. Then, you work your way back to your spaceship, close all the doors and windows so that nobody can see your shame, and sit there and eat what is essentially a low-grade hamburger, fries that have been sitting under a hyperdrive for 28 hours, and utilizing the maltshake to push the dignity that's trying to escape via your throat back down into your body.
The only saving grace? As you sit in your vehicle, preparing to sob quietly to yourself and enter a depression due to your overwhelming shame at what a horrible thing you're doing to your body as you cram this stuff down your throat in spite of every fiber of your being telling you to stop? Is that you can look out your cockpit window, take a look at some of the clientele at the place, and instantly start to feel better about yourself. Sort of like watching an episode of Jerry Springer when you're at your lowest or realizing that it's not too late to make right the fact you've chopped your kid's hand off and almost killed him because some senile old man with dementia and a bad manicure once told you that you had a perrty mouth (dammit, again with the innuendos).
Bottom line: This food is probably great if you've spent the evening huffing celonian death sticks, or got into the "Spice" again, or had just a little too much of the "special" mead at the Mos Eisley Cantina. Or if you're dining with a billionaire who is trying to throw money at you. But otherwise, you're eating a greasy USDA Grade Q burger that is no better than any other fast food joint, and stale fries with bad seasoning. The maltshakes are admittedly pretty good, but specialty stores have better. And you run no risk of having to be fearful of being seen at any of them.
Telling people that this is one of the 100 best food destinations in Seattle is a lot like me telling a new recruit Stormtrooper that everything is going to be OK, and that they're going to live. It's a complete lie.
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