Our gourmet critic goes for a hotdog and curry chips
GOD, I’m not sure which is more depressing: how quickly time passes or the even speedier manner in which we forget. Both, I suppose, although I’d go for the first one if pushed. It is certainly difficult to understand now quite how popular Arthur Fonzarelli, aka The Fonz, was during the second half of the Seventies. We’re almost talking One Direction territory here, though it is impossible to fathom how that came about. Fonzie, as close friends called him, was a character in the woefully unfunny American sitcom
Happy Days. He was played by actor Henry Winkler, last spotted doing pantomime somewhere in the north of England.
Say no more, it happens to the best of them. Yet the real mystery here is not about Henry ending up on the panto circuit, it is more to do with how he ever became an international heartthrob. Even at the height of his fame,, he looked like a suburban accountant suffering a midlife crisis. I think it was the neatly pressed jeans that gave it away.
My clear recollection is of his screen character being a high school drop-out. Yet given that he was clearly knocking around with a much younger crowd, it was hard to escape the conclusion that he hadn’t so much dropped out as been shoved out. And shoved out, mind you, long after he’d outstayed his welcome.
Anyway, let me get to the point here. Much of the action in Happy
Days took place at Arnold’s DriveIn, an archetypal American diner of its era. It had all the exciting things you’d expect. Comfy-looking booths! Gamey-looking waitresses! A Wurlitzer jukebox! Hot dogs! Milkshakes even! Though it ran from 1974 to 1978, the show’s various series were roughly based between the midFifties and mid-Sixties. By the time anything even vaguely like Arnold’s arrived here, however, it was too late for the baby boomer generation. It was even too late for those of us who’d watched the programme as kids.
According to the official website, the first Eddie Rocket’s opened on Dublin’s South Anne Street in 1989. My first visit came a couple of years later when I interviewed Nils Lofgren, a respected solo artist as well as being a longtime member of Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band, there.
Nowadays there are more than 30 branches countrywide. Of those, I have probably eaten in a half a dozen over the years, usually in the wee small hours.
I’m reasonably certain that my last Eddie Rocket’s experience was in the Baggot Street branch about seven years ago. I’d like to be more specific, of course, but the factf thath I’d spent much of the preceding 12 hours hooked up to an IV drip of excellent Chablis makes it slightly difficult. Last Wednesday afternoon I reckoned it was safe enough to go back. Even if the same staff were still on the payroll, it would have been the night shift I dealt with last time.
The place looks pretty much like any of their other branches I’ve been in: lots of red leather, neon signs, staff in red and white candystripe uniforms, comfy booths, high stools at the chrome-edged counter and very, very bright lighting. Though the decor is clearly rooted in Fifties Americana, the miniature jukeboxes at each table cater for a broader constituency. You can pick vintage tracks from the likes of Bobby Vee and Fats Domino, sure, but there’s everything from the sublime (Squeeze, The Kinks) to the ridiculous (Go West, REO Speedwagon) there as well. With a nod to tradition, I stuck my 20 cent in the slot and selected Buddy Holly’s I Guess It Doesn’t Matter Anymore.
Anyway, I decided to go for the Bacon Big Boy (no laughing down the back). It is basically a hot dog – either pork or beef – garnished with chunks of bacon and melted cheese. I had the beef version and it was fine, although in retrospect I probably would have preferred a plain hot dog with some grilled onions. Not their fault, though. The chips I ordered were just all right, although the garlic dip that came with them was very good. So was a vanilla milkshake, even if it was a bit on the lumpy side.
The atmosphere has always been an important factor in Eddie Rocket’s success, though. Maybe it’s a feng shui thing: do the comfortable surroundings somehow neutralise the simmering aggression seen in other fast-food joints late at night? Your guess is as good as mine. I do know that the excellent service – in this instance, from a delightful waitress called Ambra – puts it several notches above the soul-destroying experience many similar establishments.