Anchor Bar & Grill

The collection all started with a sailor’s hat; that was the first nautical artifact that found its way onto a wall in the famed Anchor Bar & Grill, only a brisk walk away from Superior’s waterfront at the north end of Tower Avenue.

The hat was joined by another nautical artifact. No one remembers for sure what that was, but let’s say it was a model ship. The model ship was joined by, let’s say, a gauge out of the engine room of an old laker. And now, 30 years later, the mind is boggled by a seemingly infinite array of gee-gaws and doo-dads that covers every wall and lines every shelf and fills every nook and is crammed into every cranny and all adds up to what Bean Prettie simply calls “all that stuff.”

The artifacts “give the place character,” Ms. Prettie says, in what might be one of the century’s great understatement’s. “It’s a whole lot better than sitting around staring at a neon Miller Lite sign.”

Ms. Prettie is the manager of the Anchor, where she has worked every job in the joint for 30 years for owner Tom Anderson. “When he started here, I thought this job might be for two to four years, maybe five. But 30? I never would have guessed. We’ve had some really fun times in here,” she says.

And why not? With “all that stuff” to gawk at, the Anchor’s ambience offers a one-of-a-kind diversion from today’s usual ho-hum lounge decor. And with its all-hamburger menu of legendary proportion and reputation, and a cooler full of cold beer with more on tap, the Anchor satisfies any palate that has a mighty craving for the staples of American cuisine: a brew and a burger.

A word about the food: The Anchor has a tiny kitchen; two cooks in there get to be good friends (or enemies) real quick in such a tight space.

The kitchen has one small grill; one deep fryer; and one hand-operated mo-jo that turns a whole fresh spud into French fries to-be in just one swift downward motion of a cook’s strong right arm.

The Anchor’s hamburger patties are made by hand from fresh ground beef every day. (Though it yields a delicious product, this is not a delicate, sophisticated process. “We just smash ’em,” said one cook’s helper as she set to the task one morning.)

Fresh buns arrive at the Anchor’s door every day, too. Accompaniments like tomatoes, lettuce, onions and the like are fresh, too. Ms. Bean knows that for sure, because she goes to the store every day to replenish the supply.

When pressed for details about how many burgers the Anchor serves in a typical week, Manager Bean says, “Hmmm. About a cow a week.”

Make no mistake, the Anchor’s early success was based on the patronage of sailors, longshoremen and truckers. But even as those trades have faded, the Anchor’s commitment to good, honest burgers and low prices have tended to set it apart as a welcome anachronism.

The guys who 30 years ago entered the Anchor’s doors for a beer and a bump and a burger have been joined by guys and gals in suits, and elevator mechanics (now drinking soft drinks with lunch) and hockey players and the occasional famous football player and politicians and tourists (yes, the tourists gawk forever).

“We have different people in here from all walks of life,” says Ms. Bean. “One couple came here to celebrate their 75th wedding anniversary. Another guy came in here for his 90th birthday. You never know.”

So is it the food that draws the customer to the Anchor; is it Willie and Waylon and the boys on the juke box; is it friendly competition on a postage stamp of a pool table, is it knowing that you’ll probably run into a friend there … or is it — surely it is — “all that stuff?”