hamburger blog

🍔 No Burger for You, Bucko!

We didn’t slow down our search for Alaska’s best burger — it’s just that Gannon has become a man of preferences. Since he’s already crowned his top two, when he’s craving a hamburger, he wants only the proven, the chosen, and the perfectly charred:

#1 — Miller’s Market (still the champ) One small problem: it’s an hour from either Anchorage or Talkeetna. And the weather and the roads have slowed us down.

#2 — Arctic Roadrunner Anchorage classic. Closed on Sundays and, apparently, holidays.

#3 — Humpy’s Downtown Anchorage, where we landed… eventually.

The Great Detour

Today’s mission began simple: Gannon wanted a hamburger. Of course, I wanted to give my grandson what he wanted. We set off toward Arctic Roadrunner — closest to the house, and according to Google, open.

Except I took a wrong turn that doubled the distance. When we finally rolled in, the parking lot was empty and the sign on the door read:“Closed for Veterans Day.”

“So… are we going home? This was all for nothing?” Gannon tentatively asked.

.

“No,” I said dreading the across town drive. “Let’s go to Humpy’s.” And off we went again, on roads made of ice, through traffic that would make a moose nervous.

Anchorage roads are treacherous right now — snow and ice refusing to melt, plows nowhere in sight since the big storm last Friday. But that wasn’t the day’s most dangerous moment, this was:

The Wrinkle Bomb

Somewhere between traffic lights and black ice, Gannon decided to drop a truth bomb.

“I have to be honest,” he said. “You have a lot of wrinkles. Not as many as other old people, but still a lot.” He did not expect my reaction.

"Excuse me?"

I defended myself immediately. “I think so too, but everyone tells me I don’t.”

He smiled sweetly. “They don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Well. At that point, I wanted to say, “No burger for you, Bucko.” But I didn’t — because:

1. He’s a guy.

2. He’s young.

3. And he adores me, so he thought he was being helpful.

   
   

   Still… hmmm.

   
   

The Bone of Contention

We finally made it to Humpy’s. He didn’t finish his burger, which was unusual.

When I asked why, he said, “It had a bone in it.”

Yikes. He may have just demoted Humpy’s off the list, but didn't want me to tell the waitress. I wondered if he would tell her if she had wrinkles, but I didn't see any.

We slid our way home through red lights, unplowed lanes, and sheer luck — three-lane roads with no visible lines, just faith, prayers, snow tires, and four-wheel drive.

The Takeaway

The other grandkids in the lower 48 can’t wait to join the next round of taste-testing — whether it’s the best hamburger, sushi, or pizza in Virginia Beach, while hanging out with their wrinkled old Nana Gaga. They want to be the subjects in future blogs, too.

For now, we’re preparing to leave Alaska. Talkeetna hit –4°F this morning, Anchorage is in the twenties, and the government has canceled 40% of the flights. Fingers crossed we make it out before we freeze in place. At least in time for Thanksgiving dinner.

As for Gannon? He's already forgotten about his wrinkle comment. I haven't. Probably never.

Still… I’m mad and grateful to all of you who lie to me about my face.

Until next time: Be well. Be safe. Be happy. It’s a snowy, icy, dangerous jungle out there — but at least we’ve got stories (and maybe a few wrinkles) to prove we survived it.

P.S. Stay tuned for the next Hamburger Blog —where we’ll be smoothing out Gannon’s comments and my wrinkles.

Because, as I’ve now decided: Wrinkles are not damage; they’re laugh lines earned by surviving ice roads and truth-bomb-dropping grandsons, while living big.

And if that doesn’t work, there’s always wrinkle cream… or Photoshop. 😉