Exploring the Mother Road, Route 66, and Del’s: Part Two



Del's Restaurant - you can't miss it.

 No longer a part of the United States Highway System, Route 66 today is a highway of legend. During its short lifetime Route 66 was the popular path westward from Chicago to Los Angeles, winding its way through seven states.

In 1985 it was decommissioned, bypassed by the faster, straighter, wider Interstate 40 and other concrete highways. Portions remain however, and tourists and fans will find those bits and pieces if they look for the Historic Route 66 designation.

Reflecting the public’s demand for nostalgia and perhaps a yearning for calmer times, many of the old Route 66 towns have embraced the new version of Route 66; some more than others.


No eating counter, all tables at Del's

 One of those towns trying to cling to its highway history is Tucumcari, New Mexico, where earlier this summer I stopped to explore the legend. Besides, it was past lunchtime and I was hungry. And I wanted something other than fast-food blah.

So I stopped at Del’s Restaurant in Tucumcari, where the sign said it had been around since 1956. You can’t miss the sign; there’s a big cow on top.

I walked inside, and instantly felt as if I’d stepped back a few decades. A slower, nicer time when people actually chatted with each other, shared local news and baseball scores over pie and coffee.

I asked my server if the original owner was still around, but she told me no. Maybe Del sold out and moved to Oregon, maybe he went to the big restaurant in the sky. She wasn’t sure. Would I care to see a menu?

“Sure,” I said, asking who now owns Del’s.

“Two sisters, Yvonne and Yvette,” she said smiling. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Coffee,” I answered. “Black.”

Left by myself to study the menu, I felt as if the fare was right from a 1950s diner. Chicken fried steak, tuna melt, liver and onions, roast beef and gravy. Some Hispanic items as well. Carne Asada, stuffed sopaipillas, quesadillas. Hummm. Nope, has to be a hamburger. That’s the real test of any highway restaurant. So that’s what I ordered.

There’s no eating counter and stools at Del’s. All round wooden tables with chairs in three cozy rooms, and lot’s of memorabilia to enjoy. I’m seated in the back room, where an old player piano stands in the corner, a do-not-touch sign on the music stand. Near the checkout counter there’s a small gift shop, with everything touristy from postcards to t-shirts.

Within 10 minutes, my hamburger is served. All the ingredients are there – crisp lettuce, thinly-sliced white onion, a generous slice of fresh tomato, pickles – and spread on one side of the toasted bun, a smear of mayonnaise. On the table, bottles of catsup and mustard. The gastronomic jewel on the center of the bun, however, catches my eye. A beef patty obviously formed by human hands.

Now you may say a hand-formed patty is insignificant, but think about it. The patty was not one of those machine-formed patties you find at every fast food chain in the West, or across the nation, for that matter.

Back in the kitchen, the cook took a chunk of ground beef, placed it in the center of his or her palm, then flattened and formed it into a thing of culinary beauty, just like the way they did in the 1950s. It was irregular in shape, but just round enough so it would fit on the bun.

Plopped on the grill, it sizzled and cooked until it was exactly the way I wanted it when my server had asked, “How do you want it cooked?”

“Medium rare,” I said.

Tasty, very tasty. So were the French fries – more like steak fries, actually. Thick, crisp, hot and not greasy. I placed a big squirt of catsup on my plate so I could dip my fries into it, and so the meal was perfect. American diner food at its best.

I had stopped in after the lunch crowd, but it was obvious from the friendly banter among those present that folks new each other.

After finishing the last bite of my hamburger, I asked for the check and thanked my server, who had diligently checked in on me a few times, saying “How’s everything? Can I get you anything else? A piece of fresh pie?”
No, but thanks, I said. Everything was great.

Burger, coffee and tip came to about seven bucks. Not bad. For that price, not only did I get a good, leisurely meal, but a chance to revisit a calmer, gentler time that can still be found in the West, if you just get off the Interstate.

Give it a try next time you’re driving across this wonderful country.