[Photographs: Damon Gambuto]

The notion of "home" isn't always a simple one. It's a house, or neighborhood, or simply a feeling we get when we think of the people that took the time to think of us before themselves. Sometimes it's simply a memory of an experience that defines childhood.

For Betty, the owner of Betty's Burgers Santa Cruz, it seems like it might be a little bit of all of those things. She grew up in "a speck of a town" in the Texas panhandle, but Dad was nowhere to be found and Mom took off with a surfer before Betty had a chance to ask her to stay. She writes about her experiences and the inspiration for her burger in a letter posted on the wall of her restaurant. For Betty, family and home became a man, Big Dutch, who paid her some nevermind and always seemed to have time to fix her a burger.

While passing through the sleepy, seaside town on a road trip from San Francisco back to Los Angeles, I stopped in for a coffee and asked a couple of locals about where I might grab a good burger. They both told me I had to try Betty's, and after hearing Betty's story I realized there wasn't any need to be told twice.

Santa Cruz was for me a town that I had only known through skateboard stickers and a (what now seems prescient) cheeky vampire movie. When I arrived I found an interesting mix of Northern California earnestness and beachside blasé. It's a beautiful spot mixed with some questionable waterfront attraction, but I'd try not to miss it if making the trip along the coast. It's pure American eclecticism and, moreover, a place to find some good food.

Betty's isn't the oldest place in town, but by the looks of the crowds it might as well be an agreed upon classic. I rolled in for a slow lunch of burger and fries, but the line behind me meant quick order. I went for the Basic Betty, a third pound patty with lettuce, tomato, red onion, pickles, and what they call "lube." The last ingredient comes in a few iterations, but all are mayo based. Mine was the "basic" because I like my burgers saucy, but not too spicy. (I'll leave the punning to you.)

Betty uses a burger recipe cooked by her childhood guardian, Dutch, and for good reason. Dutch is obviously an important figure in Betty's life. She remembers him fondly when recollecting the story of her burger spot and honors him with a memorial on the wall. More than that, the guy seemed to know his way around a grill.

My burger was full of flavor and completely satisfying. When imagining a perfect burger I wouldn't summon thoughts of a patty as seasoned (we're not talking just salt and pepper here) as Betty's, but what she serves up is delicious in its own right. The meat is juicy and fresh and the toppings add some fantastic, California crunch. All of this is kept in place by an excellent, fresh commercial bun that is spongy and pliant.

The patty is the defining part of this burger and probably the debt owed to Dutch when it comes to burgers. It borders on a meatloaf seasoning, but (thankfully) avoids that misplaced, mealy texture. (Not that there's anything wrong with a meatloaf sandwich.) Betty offers a half-pound patty, but I felt life the third-pound was the right beef-to-bun ratio. Along with some nicely cooked and seasoned fries I found myself pleased by Betty's distinct burger stand offerings.

Betty eventually followed in her Mom's footsteps and left her Texas panhandle roots (and Dutch) behind, but the years and good memory seem to have served her well. When I stopped on an idle Sunday the saucy, updating of a roadside burger stand was hopping with all manner of activity. What was noticeable was how many families had come to share a burger and make some memories. Folks who'd come to get a little sense of someone else's home so that they might make their own.