For 20 years, Kim and Andy Sweeney have been the stewards of the Burgertown Dairy Freeze in Bigfork. Every spring, they get the old stand ready as friends honk, holler or swing in to show their excitement for the season. That excitement was on full display in early May as the Sweeneys ushered in a record-setting opener. Not quite at full staff yet as some of their younger crew are still in school, they managed the big crowd and greeted faces old and new. Tony, a regular, was the first customer for the third year in a row and made sure to get something for his mom and dad. “Everybody’s happy to see you in the spring,” Kim said of the seasonal operation. “And then there’s anticipation because summer’s coming. There’s something to be said for not being open all year.”
Burgertown first opened 55 years ago in 1970 when Lonny Hanson pulled a tiny crafting shack from Condon to a small lot in Bigfork and started slinging food on the side of Highway 35, the same spot where it stands today. It’s gone through several owners over the years, but Kim and Andy believe they may have officially held on to the mantle the longest. They’ve served children through their small order window and watched them grow up season after season only to serve those children’s children. This year, they enlisted their first second-generation employee.
The stand itself is a bit like cutting through history. Inside, pictures of Kim and Andy’s family hang on the wall next to local landmarks. Andy’s father canoeing. A motor club posing for a picture outside what is now the Duck Inn. Kim’s great-grandmother horseback riding. There’s also pictures of Burgertown expansions through the years. There have inevitably been some changes: indoor dining, an awning, a new sign; but the heart of the joint remains the same. The ordering window of Lonny’s first shack is still clear as day when sitting inside. “We have tried to maintain every era,” Andy said. “When we bought it, we didn’t repaint the colors on the outside to kind of connect it.” Kim and Andy seem to realize that in addition to the food and property, an important part of their job is to curate people’s memories as well. They always play Waylon, Willie, Hank and Dolly — “What you used to listen to when you were a kid,” as Andy describes the playlist — and they always have cards ready for customers.
Serving snacks with a side of sentimentality helps “people feel a certain way, you hope,” Andy said.
They keep the menu simple and try to sidestep trends. There’s not a lot of space in the kitchen, which only slightly extends beyond Lonny’s original shack, so that helps them stick to what Burgertown has always been. Their food is made to order, so it can take a minute, but after 7 days a week for 20 seasons (minus the Fourth of July), Kim has a good idea how long the wait will be. On busy days in the summer, she lets customers know if it’ll be an extra 15 minutes. She’s aware people can be in a hurry on vacation so she’d rather sacrifice a sale than disrupt someone’s day. Most often, people simply grab a seat and some cards or talk to a neighbor. “There’s something to be said about waiting for a little bit and chatting to someone,” Kim said.
The Tippy Canoe was simply called the “Chili Dog” when Kim and Andy bought Burgertown, and Kim will tell you it’s still “just” a chili dog to this day. Kim first saw the words “Tippy Canoe” while driving back roads in Troutdale, Oregon. Looking for a place to eat, she stumbled on Shirley’s Tippy Canoe bar. Kim liked the way it sounded and liked how it evoked old summer camp images in her mind. “That’s kind of our vibe,” notes Andy. Once the Tippy Canoe was officially on the menu, Kim noticed the customers embraced it. “I think it’s the name. They’re like, ‘What is it?’ They’re intrigued by it. And I’ll tell them, ‘It’s just a chili dog.’”
And it is just a chili dog. Served on top of a red checkered deli sheet in a paper food boat, “The Tippy,” as it’s often shortened to, is an all-beef hot dog, slightly deep fried and bedded in a toasted bun. It’s then smothered with a generous helping of delicious chili and topped with shredded cheddar cheese, fresh diced onions and pickled jalapenos. The whole thing comes out on a plastic lunchroom tray. “It’s like an after school special,” says Kim. Which is true, but that also sells the Tippy short. The dog has the perfect “pop” when cut into with a fork and the bun is toasted to just the right firmness to absorb the chili but not get soggy. It’s too substantial to load on the fork all at once, so every bite is a bit different. As Kim notes, “It’s simple, but what you realize is, that’s ultimately what people want. It doesn’t have to be lofty in its pedigree.”
Memories are deceptive. The tallest trees aren’t all that big as an adult. The widest and fastest rivers end up just being little creeks. And at summer camp, it wasn’t always sunshine and the perfectly glassed lakes it seemed it was in our little canoe. Despite that, the Tippy, as Andy says, “tastes exactly the same as when I was a kid.”