Was I scamming Toby Keith, or was Toby Keith scamming me? I’m not a fan of his brand of chickenhawk-rock-inlaw country music, but I am a fan of the American Soldier burger at his restaurant—Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar and Grill—at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The meal is well worth its price: free for me, but not for thee. It says so right there on the menu: “AMERICAN SOLDIER: CHEESEBURGER W/FRIES AND DRINK. On the house for the soldier w/ID (One time only).”

Toby Keith’s restaurant’s burger thanks you for your service, American GI. Matt Farwell

The first time I ate one of these cheeseburgers, a waiter took my veteran ID card to enter my number into their computer. I like to think it goes into some secure Toby Keith database that keeps track, Santa-style, of which American soldiers are still due their medium-well Red White and Blue and which soldiers have freeloaded enough. I take the “one time only” notation on the menu as a personal challenge; now, every time I pass through Tulsa, I make a special effort to exit at the Hard Rock. I park and walk in through the casino, making my way past rows of shiny celebrity-branded dopamine-stimulating money boxes chirping below framed rock paraphernalia. The casino is disorienting, particularly after a long stretch of Oklahoma highway, and I always feel vaguely lost until I see the escalator marked by Cheap Trick lyrics spelled out in bold. I want you to want me. Then I know I am close.



This past Sunday afternoon, the day before Veteran’s Day, a waiter in training took my order at the bar, borrowed my ID, and typed in my number. I watched closely as he did this, in anticipation; part of me hoped this would be the time they finally figured it out. What would they do? Present me a bill for every unauthorized free soldier-burger? This would be my sixth ill-gotten ration. If I got away with it this time, I would have eaten half a squad’s worth. I didn’t want to break the streak. To kill time, the only thing I’ve felt comfortable killing since 2007, I again studied the decor as I waited for my burger. Framed certificates, flags, coins and patches that Toby Keith has collected since September 11, 2001, line the walls. “Military items in the cases were donated to Mr. Keith by all branches of the Military while performing on USO tours,” a note reads. “He wanted to share all of these memories with his fans. Enjoy.”

I’ve tried to enjoy them to the utmost. This past September, on my way to visit friends in Dulce, New Mexico, I’d been scolded by a waitress here while climbing up a wall partition to take a photograph of a frame, hanging about 10 feet from the floor, that particularly interested me: a 2009 certificate of appreciation to Keith from Lt. Col. Clint Baker, commander of the 1st Battalion of the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment. I’d written a book about one of Baker’s soldiers, Bowe Bergdahl, who’d deserted from the unit in Afghanistan two months after Toby Keith’s USO tour stopped at Bergdahl’s forward operating base in Sharana, Afghanistan.

The waitress didn’t care about the source of my nostalgia, only that I could break my dumbass neck on her shift, so I dutifully climbed down from the wall and returned to my table to eat my free soldier-burger. That same waitress paid me no mind this time, and I needn’t have worried: Soon enough I was eating my seventh American Soldier burger, and my thoughts shifted to all the promise and problems the next day—Veterans Day—held for me.