My wife and I recently attended a writing conference in San Diego, a city characterized by its incredibly stable climate. We were never cold when we were there, nor did we break a sweat, unless you want to count the mile-long, cardiovascular nightmare of a hill we tried to climb on our bikes. When the fire engine burn in my quads left and my body pumped a little blood back up to my eyes, the view on top was stunning and we paused to take in the Pacific, the mountains, and the desert simultaneously. We stayed at Bob Goff’s retreat center but tried to layer our work with some play at some of the typical sight-seeing activities around the area. Vacations can make you need a vacation if you don’t realize you are human and need to eat now and then. So, we stopped everything we were doing one day, took stock and narrowed our exhausting list of restaurant possibilities to a committed stop at Hodad’s, the iconic Ocean Beach hamburger joint started in 1969 which has by consensus the best burgers in the known universe.
That is quite a claim to fame, considering that burgers are one of those items you can find on every restaurant menu, regardless of the cuisine. To further my point, I once ate at an off-beat diner called Momma Toos that specialized in Vegan/Fusion Vietnamese dishes. I didn’t get that description either. However, I did noticed HAMBURGER printed boldly like a boss at the bottom of the menu, just below #12 TANGY ROOT MOSS WITH PARK BENCH SLIVERS, advertised in a lethal-looking and unsuitable typeface. I realized at that moment that the ubiquitous hamburger is one of the anchors holding our country together. In fact, history has it that the burger was probably even present when our founding fathers argued over who got to sign off on our energy enriching high-protein Declaration of Independence.
As my wife and I pulled up a wall and took our place in line outside Hodads, we relaxed into the people stream flowing either towards or away from the ocean. Due to Covid, Hodads and other restaurants have spilled out into the streets in the form of makeshift porches and forced both pedestrian and auto traffic to maneuver into the leftover lanes. It’s a tight squeeze for the wide range of motorcyclists, neon clad surfers, superfluous beatniks, and cart-pushing homeless finding their way along Ocean Beach. Inching slowly forward in line, we were at risk of overdosing on the smell of fried everything, and we were tempted to dip our fingers into the mammoth shakes that whipped passed us. Thankfully, I was distracted by a glimpse of a school aged child reading a novel. Her clean, patient silhouette, sandwiched between her parents, stood out from the graffiti laden surfboards propped up everywhere, and from the billions of kids now at large, gone missing on their shiny new cells.
Seated street level at our table, the single cheeseburger (with everything on it) I ordered was so picturesque I could only stare at it. It was kind of like being paralyzed by a tsunami that is about ready to kill you with cholesterol. However, this sandwich was just too beautiful for me to fret about my LDL. As it turned out, I didn’t have to because I couldn’t get my mouth around it anyway until I removed the top three inches of onions, which gave me just enough time to take a huge breath before being swept under bite by bite. One of the benefits of this purely sumptuous moment was that it allowed me to completely ignore the (homeless?) dog stretched out under _my_ table. I’m working overtime to stay safe, sanitizing my sanitation wipes, so I don’t quite get the hygienic portion of this all-inclusive dog thing. Dogs are allowed everywhere in San Diego and are only outnumbered by the sun burnt locals that have morphed into one continuous tattoo. Strangely, most of the dogs were wearing some sort of SPF sun wear while their owners looked just inches away from being naked, and probably would have been more comfortable if they were.
It seems the entire history of this little hamburger joint, indeed the whole Ocean Beach area, could be summed up by looking at the tiny signature Hodads VW bus parked out front for the last sixty years. Thousands of surfing labels cover every square inch of the van from bumper to bumper and are quite likely holding it together. The van is a constantly changing collage – a symbol for an area whose culture is tied to the ocean. While allowing generation after generation to pass by and put their stamp on it, the bus still withstands the regular assault and barrage of salty labels. The wheels on this VW may not be going ‘round and ‘round any longer, but every time a sticker is placed on this constantly changing sculpture, it gets a little bit stronger.
