Sick of Atkins, South Beach and every other starve-yourself diet? Well, with one look at Ted’s Frostop, located at 3100 Calhoun Street, people like Kate Moss and Mary-Kate Olsen could actually gain weight just knowing they serve up buckets of grease with “a-lotto-love.”
Ted Sternberg opened the Frostop in 1955 – back when smoking was still hip and squares never quite made it at “lookout point.” Ted remains true to this old-school ideal, with decking out the restaurant’s juke-joint interior in Coca-Cola memorabilia and the retro 50s-era prices.
My research assistant Maggie and I approached the landmark late on a Sunday afternoon, both chain-smoking Lucky Strikes and sporting black sunglasses, desperately trying not to look like vegetarians so we could blend in with the ultra-cool staff. I had been to the Frostop before, but had yet to try their most famous, most unhealthy item – the “a-lotto-burger.” Maggie and I approached the counter and placed our orders. The service was slow, but what can you expect from a place that says they cook everything fresh? Moreover, what they lack in speed, they well make up for in cost.
Every day of the week, the Frostop boasts a different lunch special, each only $4.50. Mondays they serve red beans and rice, on Wednesday they offer shrimp creole, and Fridays they offer veal parmesan with spaghetti. Even if people miss lunch, everything from breakfast to hot roast beef can be bought for less than $6.
Yet every day, patrons order the Frostop’s most popular dish, “a-lotto-burger,” for only $3.75 with fries or onion rings and a drink. I found us a chic table, fashionably situated between the smoking section and the video poker room. Moments later our food slid out on the pickup counter, and Maggie gathered our feast.
“Lord, these burgers are bigger than Jesus,” she said.
I concurred. The infamous “a-lotto-burgers” are not only big, but also taste great, like the fries. However, avoid the onion rings – even my grease-loving soul cannot bear to handle them.
The best part of the meal is by far the root beer. Served ice-cold in a frosted mug, chefs concoct the soda fresh daily in the back of the store. Ted’s secret recipe flows from a tap labeled “Barqs.” Do not be fooled; they prepare the brew themselves.
Along with cheap specials, a smoking section and many choices of New Orleans style po’boys, perhaps the most interesting aspect of the Frostop rests on the counter, sitting in an ice-filled chest: beer. The brands range from the helpless Budweiser for $1.75 to the yummiest Heineken for $2. They do, however, ask for an ID. Maggie attempted to buy, hence the entire paragraph dedicated to the root beer.
In a post-eating daze, it occurred to us that Ted’s Frostop flourishes due to its appeal to many classes. Rich and poor, student and worker, hipster and jock unite so harmoniously under the mug of greasy, scrumptious food, with not one dish available for the trendy vegetarian. Having finished our meal, Maggie and I flipped on our sunglasses, lit some Lucky Strikes and slipped out the door.
Sammy Loren can be reached at [email protected].
