It takes a particularly unassuming stretch of asphalt to birth a gem like this, spaced comfortably on a slab amidst a long stream of blank brick businesses.
To anticipate the sight of Lucky Boy's signage and to finally lay eyes on its garish mid-century beauty, open sign proudly displayed, is to harness a joy that is all too rare these days.
Suzy, co-owner
Ron, co-owner
The prices, the presentation of the menu, and the building itself, are all relics of a time when convenience, quality, and character where all staples of the American fast-food experience; when 'family-owned' and affordability were not mutually exclusive, and when the atmosphere of a place was not manufactured or replicated, but rather carefully curated by an owner whose hands touch the food, the money and the door you walk through.
To anticipate the sight of Lucky Boy's signage and to finally lay eyes on its garish mid-century beauty, open sign proudly displayed, is to harness a joy that is all too rare these days.
These places were once prevalent and existed at first for the purpose of pride, for providing a quality product that anyone can enjoy; of maximizing the accessibility of hand crafted meals.
Somewhere along the line the pride was lost. In the name of pure profit the product became altered, mass produced, and commodified. Rather than a human creation freshly made with recognizable ingredients, the advent of industrially-prepared foods shipped and emptied out of vacuum sealed bags has become the norm across America; an idea that's being exported around the world at an accelerating rate.
Lucky Boy, occupying a unicorn-rare sweet spot between homemade, ridiculously affordable and fast, is – as a result – a place that deserves support, protection, and admiration. The faces of the owners and the loyalty of the customers is proof enough; this place represents the absolute pinnacle of the American fast-food dream.
A lucky boy, indeed.
Salmon Burger
Sweet & Sour Pork, Eggroll , Fried Rice + Dumplings
