No matter how big worldwide brands like McDonald’s or KFC get, they’ll never match the iconic status of a tiny Morehead City burger stand named El’s Drive-In.
Tucked away on a gravel lot, shaded by centuries-old live oaks that whisper of a time when forest bordered this 69-year-old restaurant, El’s has no flashy, sky-high sign beckoning motorists from the road. The same faded, white menu board that’s always listed El’s beloved super burger and shrimp burgers is all that crowns the vanilla milkshake-colored brick box.
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If you didn’t know El’s was there sitting on its plain concrete slab, you’d probably never stop.
But everyone knows it’s there.
“Sometimes the train will call in his order and say, ‘Can you have it ready in 20 minutes?’” El’s third-generation owner Shelton Franks says, raising his chin to the conductor’s whistle as a locomotive chugs down tracks dividing U.S. 70 in front of El’s.
“And he’ll block the traffic right there so he can come in and get his order,” Franks’ mother, Gail, adds.
The affection people have for this tiny take-out was especially obvious when El’s re-opened on Jan. 17, following a nine-month closure. Every vehicle jamming the parking lot held a personal story.
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Mending hearts
Construction worker Joseph Booth is sure he’s been an El’s regular since the days right after he was born 45 years ago in the hospital next door. “My momma used to love coming over here,” he said, “All the time!”
High school sweethearts Josh and Amanda Lyle not only grew up eating at El’s, the restaurant even played a role in rekindling their teenage romance. “I wanted to get back together because I realized the wrongs of my ways,” Josh recalled, “so, she agreed to meet me at El’s after school one day, and it was January 17, of 1997.”
Josh convinced carhops to deliver chocolate milkshakes to his vehicle when Amanda arrived, and he set the mood with her favorite country music playing. “We’ve been together ever since.”
“And we do still try to come back every year on this day,” Amanda said.
An obituary in the local newspaper days before the reopening is one of many over the years to note a deceased’s love of El’s. It reminded Gail Franks of the man who once stood atop the building in honor of a buddy who passed. “All his friends had their hot rod cars lined up out here in the parking lot and did a drive away,” Gail recalled, tearing up.
“You know, people just have a lot of memories. If it weren’t for them, we’d just be a little place.”
Because of its location in a popular coastal tourist area, El’s has long been known outside of North Carolina, but its fame across the state and beyond exploded with the introduction of Google reviews and social media, Gail said. Especially during the pandemic, fans shared their El’s experiences.
But it was clear by 2024 that the old building could no longer withstand the weight of time. The Franks family was forced to shutter El’s that April and do the unimaginable — tear the place down.
A family’s resilience
The Franks family didn’t bulldoze El’s. They convinced contractors, including Booth, to dismantle it brick by brick. Workers salvaged 90% of those bricks to construct a new El’s identical to the original that an indomitable Elvin Franks built in 1959.
Though a childhood bout of osteomyelitis left him with a limp, Elvin persevered. He worked tirelessly in various restaurants since high school, eventually channeling his passion and determination into starting his own business.
“He had a good work ethic and, you know, he cared about what we put out there,” Elvin’s son, Mark Franks, said.
Elvin co-owned an Atlantic Beach drive-in before leasing what is now nearby Cox’s Family Restaurant. There, Elvin and his wife, Helen, operated a drive-in named This Is It, but Elvin soon realized owning property was his best bet.
Ambition brought challenges. Construction of the first El’s couldn’t begin until a house on the property was relocated. Gail Franks recalls stories about Elvin and Helen owning just one car. “She worked in the daytime, and he would work at night,” Gail said. At midnight, Mom would gather her children for the drive to pick up Elvin after his shift.
Mark always knew he would work at El’s. Family legend has it that when Mark’s draft number for the U.S. Army came up, Elvin “talked to somebody” to ensure his son wouldn’t report to duty until after clocking one more summer at the restaurant. “I got in on what they called ‘the delayed-entry program,'” Mark said with a grin.
Like his dad, Shelton was happy to start working at El’s as soon as he was old enough, around age 12. Now, he runs the place, although Shelton stresses that his father “still beats me out here every morning.” And Mark was right there in the kitchen on reopening day.
“He’s my best friend,” Shelton said, “so, I guess I never thought about doing anything else. Why wouldn’t I want to help my dad? Why wouldn’t I want to keep this going?”
Gail is El’s bookkeeper. She and Mark’s daughter, Jenna, have lent a hand at the restaurant too. When the family agreed to expand to Smyrna in 2024, while the original location was under renovation, the goal wasn’t to seed a mega brand. Instead, Shelton wanted to help a cousin fulfill his own entrepreneurial dream. The independently operated El’s food truck there offers the same beloved menu and features a convenient drive-up window. Despite its remote address, a steady stream of loyal customers lines up.
No shortcuts
The Frankses write at El’s website that they have lovingly maintained the Morehead City restaurant “so you can feel the history — but not taste it.” Yet, it’s clear the values that the late Elvin Franks instilled all those years ago still season each order.
“I try to tell people who work for me, ‘Don’t send anything out that you wouldn’t want to receive,’” Shelton said.
What looks like chaos along the narrow kitchen line is a synchronized dance of short-order and prep cooks who patty Black Angus ground beef each morning into El’s signature burgers, the most popular items on the menu.
Creamy slaw for the top-selling “All The Way” — a classic Carolina burger that also gets mustard, chili and onions — is still prepared from-scratch according to Helen Franks’ recipe, with an unexpected hint of ketchup. “If it weren’t for the slaw, we’d just be another burger joint,” Shelton said as his father nodded in agreement.
Every shrimp burger, every piece of fried chicken, everything on the menu, from BLTs to oyster dinners, is cooked to order, no matter if 20 tickets crowd the board and an equal number waits stacked on the counter to take their place.
With nary a second of dilly dally, carhops whiz back and forth, delivering brown bags stuffed full of El’s goodness to what resembles a parking lot pile up. Servers magically monitor who’s just pulled in, who gets which bag and who needs special attention because they’ve been waiting in their vehicle too long.
“It’s hard to explain how we keep track of it,” said Mary Magara, who’s been working at El’s since 2006. “You just know.”
Between monitoring a griddle covered in burgers and five fryers all a go, cooks still take time to slide food to the few people, like Robert Ligas, who slip inside to grab their call-in orders.
Customers know to stay out of the way, but even in the lunch-rush madness, cooks alert Ligas that burgers for his six-man painting crew are almost ready. He doesn’t mind a delay. “We’ve been waiting nine months, so everybody wants a cheeseburger.”
Where did his team eat while El’s was closed? Ligas answers with a true testament of loyalty to this timeless piece of delicious history. “We brought a grill to work, and we made our own burgers.”
Editor’s note: Amanda Lyle is chief community engagement officer with the North Carolina Coastal Federation, which publishes Coastal Review.
