When you visit Joe's - I mean, Lake Burton Grocery -follow this plan: First, pull off of Hwy 76W, parking on the splash of asphalt out front. Do not run over any free-range children who've walked up from the lake for ice cream. Do brace yourself to be hit by the scent of bbq wafting from a beat-up smoker to your right. Pause. Breath deep. Walk up, pulling open the old screen-door serving as the grocery's grand entrance. Let it smack shut behind you. Register that oh-so-satisfying sound. Nothing says you've left the city like an anciently painted screened-door banging shut. Step foot over the decade-old, scuffed-up wooden floors. This aint no 7-11. You'll be greeted by a friendly smile and a "How ya doin'?" by either Joe himself, daughter Barbara or a real-deal Rabun County resident.
The front room of the store offers anything a visitor or local resident may need. There's cold drinks and matches. Lighter fluid and tick-tacks. Graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate for those parents who couldn't get it together, coming up to the mountains without s'mores supplies. There's dog food, canned beans and Starbucks iced coffee in the fridge - for city folks and their ensuing coronaries if gourmet caffine consumption is disrupted. Joe has his wooden shelves stocked with wine (that's for me), fishing line and lures, shampoo and homemade fudge. But wait for it. It gets... better.
Durk's Take-Away is the official name of the kitchen and deli in the next room. This cozy space while small in square footage, feeds masses of hungry. Visitors and locals alike. It's a great mix of people milling around waiting on their BBQ and slaw. The daily menu board will make your mouth water. Realizing you missed home-made breakfast sandwiches makes you wanna kick yourself. Noting that on summer eves Joe produces gourmet take-out dinners, will having you placing an order faster than a...well, lets just say, really fast.
I don't know who the Durk, in Durk's Take-Away is. Usually it's Joe himself back in the kitchen. Looking like a wild mad-man, tongs and cutting knives whirling. Longish white hair attempts escape freedom-fight style under a tightly worn ballcap. His white goatee - much better behaved - surrounds a wide smile of interesting dental work. Joe wields his spatula more like a pitch fork or light-saber. The man is a mix of Sweeney Todd meets Emeril Lagasse. Don't be scared. He won't bite. He just wants to feed your belly.
It's touching how proud Joe is of his place. Last summer he showed me all around the storage rooms explaining his plans and grand visions. He giddily showed off his place like a normal grandpa would photos of his grand-kids. Joe asked what I thought of his ideas, inquiring if I liked the new and improved patio. How flattering. And yes, I did like the new patio - a.k.a. relaxing waiting area. Huge logs-seats and benches provide a fine space to kill a little time while you hang-out. Newspapers lie scatter around underneath a huge map of Lake Burton hung perfectly at eye level. Nearby, that rusty smoker churning out the scent of tantalizing pork being cooked oh-so right. You'd better sit down.
Most of the folks who traverse through the place are salt of the earth. Its sweet - sentimental in my old age I am - to see the local, older guys come in for their morning cup o' jo.. Clad in jean overalls and wilted ball caps, you get the feeling you're witnessing what's been their daily uniform for 60 plus years. However, I can report at least one instance of the direct opposite. It wasn't pretty. High-glossed Range Rover barrels into the tiny parking area like they own the joint. Two people hop out. You know them: Ken and Barbie. Stepping up to the kitchen's counter, Ken can't wait to order those sandwiches. And he's going to do so, with great lunch-ordering authority. However, Joe had stepped into the back. Kitchen momentarily unmanned. My sister, Nicole, stood nearby, holding up the wall while waiting for her own sandwich she'd just ordered. Ken glances around blinking. Empty kitchens confuse him. Darting eyes quickly settle on Nicole. She's positioned on the customer side of the counter - just like he is - but clad in jeans, t-shirt and ponytail. Typical weekend attire.
"I want to place an order," he informs her.
Amused, she looks up. "I think you should."
Ken just stands there. Emaciated Barbie linked to his arm, scrying hungrily, hoping her man will provide.
"Aren't you going to take our order?" Ken demands.
"I don't think so." Nicole informs calmly.
"Why not?"
"Because... I. Don't. Work. Here.
Just then, Joe emerged from his cloisters quickly taking the guy's order. He then handed my sister her steaming-hot BBQ, thanking her by name - as he does all his regulars. But as I stated, this type of customer is the anomaly. Most folks milling around are either up from Atlanta on a fantastic day-drive, or weekending at the lake. Either way, its a prime environment for a lot of happy, shiny people. Often, I've envisioned Vermont's Norman Rockwell - great American illustrator who's paintings showcased small town U.S.A. throughout the '30s - '50s - waltzing into Lake Burton Grocery feeling right at home. It's a special kind of store, with the authentic feel and flavor of a bygone area. And except for the occasional out-of-line Range Rover, you'd almost believe not a day has passed.
Lake Burton Grocery / 7335 Hwy 76 West / Clayton / GA 30525
phone: 706.782.4646
website: yeah, right
Was "google-ing" Durk's and came across your blog. We bought a place at Lake Burton in Sept. and Durk's is one of our favorite breakfast traditions! Enjoyed your posts and your "crock pot art"!
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