From the Community: The Town Crier: Lost tastes

Published 8:30 am Tuesday, August 5, 2025

They say never go grocery shopping when you’re hungry. To that I would add never go on a long plane trip when you’re hungry, never get married when you’re hungry (the growling stomach will be heard on the wedding video) and don’t write a Town Crier article when you’re hungry.

I should have heeded my own advice. Since the Town Crier is about Dalton, I’m thinking of some of the “lost tastes” that are gone forever but never forgotten.

Smell and taste are tied together, and science suggests that these senses are perhaps the most basic. Smell and taste can have an emotional impact as well. Smelling hot, fresh bread baking wherever you are will give you pause and, however you feel, put you in a better mood.

But apart from just making you feel better when you smell good food, the memory of those smells and tastes can actually transport your memory back to a time and place where you had those eats in your life. And right now, with my stomach rumbling, I’m thinking back on some of those foods I’ve loved, but alas, can never have again. The places and people who fixed these treats are long gone.

The first one I always think about is one I’ve mentioned in the Crier several times over the years. First of all, how special is a birthday for a kid? Remember when you weren’t just “8” but “8-and-a-half!”? The older you are, the more you want to slow the process down, but as a kid you can’t wait till the next one. Now, couple that excitement (hopefully with some birthday presents and family and friends) with a birthday cake.

The cake that still haunts my birthday parties is the one you could get from Davis Bakery in Bryman’s Plaza. The cake part inside was good, but probably no better than what your grandmother could whip up on a good day. But the icing was something incredible. It was stiff and sweet and delicious and encased the cake. There was just something about it and I’ve never heard anybody that had one of those cakes from back then say there was a better one.

Of course I started off with something sweet, so let’s go to what’s basically a meal between two halves of a bun: the cheeseburger. It’s got protein, dairy, grains, and if you “run it through the garden” it’s going to have lettuce, tomato, onions and pickles. Squeeze on a little ketchup and mustard and you’ve got the American classic.

But let’s face it, for something that has the identical ingredients wherever you get one, there’s a huge variation in what you get. On the highway you’re stuck with fast-food at the exit, but in town, there’s always a couple of good burger joints.

The one that always got me smacking my lips was a cheeseburger from the El Rancho on South Hamilton. I would go through the drive-thru, which seemed like a hole knocked in the brick wall instead of something planned during construction.

The burgers were what they refer to as “smash burgers” now. Cooked up hot to order on a big, flat griddle, those juicy burgers really hit the spot at lunchtime. There was an older gentleman that took the order through the window and maybe he grilled up the burgers as well.

Pulling up to order, the smell of the patties cooking drifted out to get the excitement going, and yes, I can get excited over a good burger. The building is still there and they’re working on it, so maybe it’s coming back as a restaurant. Something tells me any burgers from there just won’t be the same. That griddle was magic.

On the way to the hospital not so many years ago, there was a little cinder block building with an old sign out front that leaned to one side that read Dari-Dip on it. It was one of those classic little drive-ins you see in movies. I found out from my dad that he had gone there as a teenager, which means that place was there for a long time.

My favorite was the banana split they made there. I don’t know why theirs was different, but it hit the spot like no other. I don’t know what brand of ice cream they used, or where the cherries on top came from, but it was a cold, creamy concoction that’s now gone.

I did the burger, so I’ll do the hot dog. Every once in a while my dad would get me for lunch and say “Let’s get the best hot dogs in town.” He would take me to the Owens Pharmacy and we’d sit at the counter and order a pair of slaw dogs each. Not only did they have slaw like I’ve never had since (made on-site by one of the lunch ladies or bought from some defunct slaw factory with enchanted cabbage?), but, as many of the drug store lunch counters would do, they would also toast the bun so it had a crisp outside to complement the soft inside. Not sure how they cooked the dogs, broiled or boiled or some other way, but they were loaded with taste. And to be honest, I guess part of the wonderful memory was sitting there next to my dad.

The last lost taste was a fried sweet potato patty that my maternal grandmother cooked in her black skillet. Mixed in a bowl like batter, with egg, flour and who knows what spices, these flat, little patties were the size of a drink coaster. Sweet and hot, they were a perfect match for a slice of ham. Turns out she got the recipe from my other grandmother. If I ever find the recipe folded up in an old, family Bible, I’ll let you know.

Mark Hannah is a Dalton native who works in the film and video industry.

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