On the one hand, there's no pretense at Paradise, which serves fried Spam sandwiches and MoonPies 24 hours a day in an atmosphere somewhere between NASCAR and Sanford & Son. On the other hand, it's all pretense, from the duct-taped screen doors, which are self-consciously falling apart, to the menu, which facetiously touts a lobster Thermidor that is never actually available. Like country cutup Minnie Pearl, who was really a genteel Southern lady in costume, Paradise's menu of burgers and fries is fresh, high-quality grub in trash-food clothing. The sweet potato fries, feather-light with a nearly candied crunch, rival any in town. Meanwhile, the single-wide with cheese, a juicy third-of-a-pound burger swaddled in a fresh sesame seed bun, slides down like a fast-food grease patty -- in a good way -- but without the scary consistency of moist cardboard. The Shady Acre club sandwich piles on generous layers of Boar's Head meats.
Payment Type: All Major Credit Cards, cash
Parking: Lot Available, Street
Reservations: Not Necessary