Around the State in 70 Steaks. And Shakes.: Stop #57: Essex Drive, Kokomo (#244)

After one of the most miserable winters in my memory here in Indiana (seriously, it's been like a billion inches of snow and temperatures so low at times that you can throw boiling water outside and get snow), I decided I'd earned a vacation. A quality vacation, better than any vacation I've had before. One to a place everyone's heard of.

Because after you put up with a billion inches of snow, don't you deserve bodies in the sand? After you put up with temperatures so low that you can throw boiling water outside and get snow, don't you deserve a tropical drink melting in your hand? After your pipes have frozen five times and you've had work canceled thrice for weather-related reasons, don't you deserve to get away from it all?

Way down in Kokomo?

So I invited Jen to join me on my tropical paradise vacation. Where I happened to know that they had not one, but TWO Steak 'n Shakes for the enjoying.

But you know what, lovely readers?

Kokomo is a LIE.

Behold: The saddest vacation picture ever.

Okay, technically, Kokomo exists, but the beach promised by the line of sand in the song? The warmth promised by the tropical drink melting in the song? The pleasant vacation promised by the steel drums? John Stamos?

It's a lie. It's ALL a lie. Kokomo had inches of snow on the ground when we arrived, a temperature a whopping two degrees above freezing, and nary a ray of sunshine to be seen, save for my artwork.

My heart was broken.

Fortunately, the two Steak 'n Shakes were NOT a lie.

At the first Steak 'n Shake we went to, the one on Essex Drive, our server, Patrick, was very friendly, and seemingly a bit confused by our decision to take a vacation in Kokomo. (Well, Patrick, you live here. You know what it's like. We've apparently been fed a diet of lies all our lives thanks to the Beach Boys.)

Jen managed to keep an upbeat and "let's enjoy our vacation anyway" attitude.

Probably because she wasn't just standing outside
in a puddle of melted snow wearing flip-flops and shorts.

And convinced me to follow suit with my own as-close-as-possible-to-tropical-melting-drinks-thanks-to-drinky-umbrellas shot.

Pictured: Faking it.

To mend my broken heart, I ordered what has become one of my favorites at Steak 'n Shake, a veritable comfort-to-Marcy food: the Guacburger.

Hope, and the promise of a better tomorrow.

The hope is the burger;
the promise, the guacamole.
The better tomorrow? Apparently fries.

Belly full, I was able to get over the fact that I could not find a beach in Kokomo to sun myself on. Though, as photographic evidence proves (and the photographic evidence of a rare variety, I promise), my legs definitely needed it. They do not see the light of day but once every ten years, kind of how Davy Jones' legs wouldn't see the light of day but once every ten years when he gets to set foot on land. Except his legs probably see more sunlight by virtue of being on a pirate ship in the in-between years.

But my vacation was looking up. I'd had a burger, I'd had a wannabe tropical drink, and I had the traditional "group shot" with Jen.