When the hamburgers all disappeared, along with the buns I was warming, I thought I was seeing things. But when my spatula went through the cast-iron grill top - I had to let it go out of reflex. No way was I going after it - I'd been burned too many times. It wasn't like I had a choice after that. Because the grill itself dropped out through the bottom of the rolling coach we were cooking out of that summer. I looked up at Ham, my order-taker, partner,...