PicoBlog

JCW’s is a local burger chain that can be semi-ironically classified as “fast food.” But I’ll get to that later. It was founded in 1998 by brothers Chris and Clay Williams in American Fork. Their flagship location was housed in a building that was formerly a Hardee’s (folks are still unsure if Hardee’s closed or was asked to leave town). Now, more than twenty years later they have expanded to four more locations—in Provo, Lehi, Herriman, and South Jordan. “The Burger Boys,” JCW’s, is a gourmet burger joint described on its website as dedicated to “quality and a lot of it.” 

Now, I’ve been to JCW’s more than a few times. Yet every time I go back I have to rationalize the visit with dizzying feats of motivated reasoning and strained logic in order to get around some basic issues. These issues are encapsulated by the three following three grievances.

My first grievance could be fitted for a cable TV chyron as “Shake Size-gate.” The sizes are, quite simply, screwed up. One day, I ordered a “medium” size shake, and when my order was brought out, a behemoth emerged. I nearly ran for cover, but something told me that I could never hope to escape. It was as if someone had filled a 7-11 Big Gulp with a shake, and then surrounded it with an impenetrable Styrofoam wall. Being the exasperating environmentalist that I am, it was about too much. Styrofoam is to a new cohort of environmentalists what DDT was to Rachel Carson and the flower children. But beyond that, this was a prime example of Orwellian double-speak. It was an audacious attempt to redefine sizes. Perhaps, if I had been a more conscious consumer I might have noted there was not a true “small” size. The prices for “small” started at $4. It’s as if all realtors only sold mansions. This darkly ingenious example stands as a testament to the subtly manipulative psychology of seemingly banal business practices (or so it does in my conspiratorial mind).

My second grievance is mostly just obnoxious, a sorry symptom of my first-world upbringing. That is my contention that JCW’s should only be loosely referred to as “fast food.” I’m guessing that the category has never been rigorously defined, but certain restaurants belong in the Plutonic nether-world of the fast food planetary order. This is because it takes nearly 15 minutes to get your food. I know I’m reaching ‘peak whine’ right now, but I’ll proceed anyhow. Watching a line of cars proceed through the JCW’s drive-thru window is similar to how I imagine a drive-through line at The Olive Garden would appear. Not slow enough to create hostage-taking situations and intermittent rioting, but slow enough to find mildly concerning. I know there’s an air of pretension at JCW’s to the “gourmet” (that is not totally unwarranted either), but still, I feel that adding a drive-thru window is perhaps unnecessary, and clearer expectations on wait times would be welcome. Especially if the unsuspecting customer is an unwitting stooge in the “Shake Size-gate” saga.

My third and final grievance (perhaps I should sign this manifesto and tape it to the door of JCW’s), is the mixed-up kitsch. I know kitsch has a long and storied history in these parts, and though I’m not really okay with that, I’ve found healthy ways to cope. But there is no effective coping mechanism for mixed-up kitsch—kitsch that is uprooted from any cohesive and unifying theme. There are random vintage records (like, physical copies of records) that are hung throughout the store. There are postcards of BYU teams from eons past, and there are, quite simply, just so many things on the wall period. And, like they say, when everything is on the wall, nothing is on the wall. I actually like nostalgia and elements of history that sometimes may stray into the kitsch. But these types of things belong in local diners and hole in the wall joints. Not in an expanding fast food chain. The philosophy and meaning of an expanding restaurant chain is probably a topic for another day, but there are certain sacrifices that are made in the names of profitability and general viability in the Ayn Rand-ian world of fast food—one of these being down-home charm. And I don’t know of any restaurant chain that has been able to expand while hugging close to its original charm—though JCW’s is trying really hard.

Now, I would be remiss if I didn’t also dwell, albeit more briefly, on the good to be found at JCW’s (one of its most praiseworthy qualities being that it doesn’t sell even one essential oil). In this vein I would add I’m less of a protestant than a reformer. And of these reforms, ending the long tyranny of Styrofoam is on the top of my list. Nonetheless, JCW’s has created 120 jobs and gives discounts to service members. And the food is actually quite good. Beyond my critiques, there is a reason I keep going back. The burgers are made to be wolfed down, and the shakes are meant to be savored. Of these, I would most highly recommend the peach. So, by all means, go to JCW’s (you can even use the clever mnemonic device my cousin Ethan created of “Just Cry, We Suck,” to jog your memory). And though you may never see me there, that is probably only because I’m completing my half-hour wait in the drive thru line. 

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