The whole touching story of Quicky

Jan 01 2021

To me Quicky is, or was, one of brightest shining gems in Norwegian rural fast food restaurant history. Magically appearing on Riksvei 7 towards Bergen, I doubt we’ll ever see anything like it again.

I stop at the bus pocket over the road, so I can see her vibrating in the surrounding landscape. I’m always weirdly astonished. So very right in its own way. A small brick wall building, with a thought through American diner interior styling, and a logo that just straight up looks like milkshake. I take a picture in the warm summer sun, and walk towards it to see if it’s open. It’s not, even though it’s noon on a regular Thursday. As I come closer, I spot a sign in the window: TIL SALGS. My little gem is for sale. 

Next time I drive past Quicky, it’s late summer. TIL SALGS is gone, but so is the Quicky logo. I photograph the empty building as a memorial, and sadly think about that I never managed to hit the opening hours – but I’ve figured you’d be quite lucky for that to happen.

I want to get to know it’s history. I google my way to the name of the owner, and give him a call. “Hello, is this Quicky?”, I try. ”What do you want??”, he asks. I realize it’s difficult to explain my admiration without sounding like a maniac. I manage to stutter a question about the logo, but he abruptly keeps repeating that the place has new owners. I’m struggling to understand his obscure Norwegian accent, and suddenly the conversation is done. Maybe he’s done with Quicky too. 

I keep thinking about Quicky. I ask my friend. My friend knows Carl, and Carl’s father grew up in Veme, the small village of Quicky. Carl says it’s been there for over 40 years, that there were no fixed opening hours, except during Easter holiday when caravans of cars with eager Norwegians are heading to their hytte (cabin). Carl’s been a guest at Quicky several times. I ask him what it tasted, and he says “hm, I think regular fast food hamburgers”.

Carl’s father gives me a more detailed picture of the owner, also known as Johan Nederlender (Johan Dutch guy, which explains the accent); he always wears shorts – as long as it’s over minus 10 degrees Celsius. I imagine Johan Nederlender beside the shining Quicky building, wearing shorts in December, with his arms folded he stares at me: “What do you want??”.

I’m curious if the huge Quicky sign still exists (I’d love to hang it in my living room), so I call the new owners mentioned in the local newspaper. They’re opening a sushi and thai restaurant there. They seem nice, and I believe their food is good too, but in my heart nothing can replace Quicky. I keep that secret for myself, and ask them if they know where the sign got stored. They say it’s probably been taken down by the former owner, but they’re not sure. I wonder if Johan Nederlender is keeping it in his basement. Maybe he’s planning to re-open a new Quicky somewhere else in Norway? I hope so. I want to call him again and ask, but after how our last conversation ended, I feel like that’s an impossible mission.

I ask Carl if he can help me get in touch with Johan Nederlender again, but Carl’s father only have a vague connection. I’m left with loose threads and telephonophobia. I decide to keep honoring Quicky in my own unique way.

The iconic Norwegian fast food restaurant, and true hidden gem, is now history. The sushi and thai place opens January 2021, and rumor has it they’re keeping the Quicky name (I’m expecting a new flamboyant sign). But the original logo is now Norwegian fast food history. I hope Johan Nederlender keeps the sign in a safe place, and that he takes these words as a gesture of genuine admiration. <3