For a period of roughly two years, off and on, my brother and I worked alongside each other at Steak and Shake. When I began my fledgling career at the age of sixteen, I saw little of my elder brother at the restaurant—as a seasoned member of the fast food community, his insider connections allowed him access to the coveted, higher-paying nighttime shift from midnight to eight in the morning. Only after a month or so of working did I finally share my first daytime shift with my brother—it and subsequent shifts with him were painful moments of bitter disillusionment.
Seeing that I had some difficulty increasing my efficiency on the grill, my brother took it upon himself to share with me some of his secret techniques. I watched in horror as the production of grilled cheese, a stubborn and time-consuming item, was streamlined by placing two slices of cheese directly onto a greasy grill for several seconds and then scraped onto unbuttered pieces of toast. I wept as our pre-cooked pepperjack bacon was made crispy not on a grill, but in a microwave. Perhaps most alarming to me was my brother’s refusal to follow protocol by lightly toasting each bun on the grill before plating a sandwich, considering it to be a “waste of energy.” Watching my sibling destroy my preconceptions of him as a cook with integrity brought me back to the first time I watched him play soccer in high school: expecting him to be an assertive confident player, I was disappointed to see him leave the bench late into the game, only to inadequately chase after opposing players like a timid child.
I do not, however, mean to imply that all of my brother’s actions at Steak and Shake were driven by The Dark Side. During his tour of duty at the restaurant, he created—and shared with me—a number of original, unauthorized concoctions that the two of us provided to friends as a part of our secret menu. Many originals came and went over the years, but there were a number of standouts that survived the test of time: Pasta A La Troy, the Strawberry Cheesecake Shake, the Cold Cut Steakburger, and the Jill special—a chicken sandwich with guacamole and Fritos, created for and named after our favorite night shift waitress.
My brother’s magnum opus was, without a doubt, his Fiesta Fries. To prepare the dish, hot chili was poured on top of a plate freshly prepared French fries, and then topped with shreds of spicy pepperjack bacon, jalapenos, and nacho cheese. The fries were then covered with a layer of pepperjack cheese and heated further in the microwave to give them a gooey outer layer. A second sprinkle of bacon bits and pico de gallo topped of the fries—I liked to eat them with a side of guacamole. Special consideration had to be given to the fries—if they were too crispy they would distract from the delicate flavors of the added topping and if they were too limp they would need to be eaten with a spork. There was some disagreement between us when it came to the quality of pre-fiestafication Steak and Shake fries; I considered them to be just right, while my brother felt they were too thin and under-salted. Regardless, we could both agree that the final product was an orgasmic, mouth-watering piece of fast food artistry that allowed taste buds to briefly taste the Sublime and managed to wash away my bitter tears of disappointment in a sea of spicy chipotle sauce.
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