But Bob's is no affectation. No hackneyed retro hamburger house, no Johnny Rockets or Mel's Diner with a face-lift. Big Boy is the real McCoy, a chunk of living history honoring the '50s car culture without pretense. I saw seniors navigating the aisles with walkers, rockers with green hair and pierced nostrils, even babies doing what they always do, throwing food onto the floor. And it's loud.
Voices fill the rooms like music from a thousand speakers.
Bob's is real. The main reason I came here to begin with, even when I was a punk without a clue about cuisine, was for the burger. Give me a Big Boy, I used to say, then leave me alone. It's not huge, or messy, or layered with unseemly gobs of condiments that pour from the bun and camouflage true flavors. The Big Boy is a tidy sandwich that fits easily into the hand and has good wholesome flavors.