A full-size Kincaid’s burger is a half a pound of beef, charred and well-seasoned, lean yet drippingly juicy, sandwiched between thick halves of a big warm bun that oozes a surfeit of condiments, onions, tomato slices, and shreds of lettuce.
The ambiance of Kincaid’s gives these hamburgers extra pizzazz. You see, Kincaid’s started as a grocery store and is still configured that way. The old grocery shelves have been cut down to approximately chest high and surfaced so customers can find a convenient place to stand and scarf down lunch. Many years ago when we first discovered the place, we saw one old couple arrive with their own folding chairs, wait in line at the counter, get their burgers, find an unoccupied length of shelf space, tuck napkins into their collars, and dig in with gusto. They told us they ate lunch at Kincaid’s at least three days every week. Since then, tables and chairs have been added to the front of the place so people can dine more normally, but somehow it’s more fun to stand in the aisles and eat the old-time way.
The makeshift tables are strewn with magazines for reading while you chew. And dangling from above is what must be called interior decoration: a menagerie of plastic yellow happy faces, inflatable anthropomorphic hot dogs, and similar amusing gew gaws.