I have limited time to write this, so I want to get it on the page before my body recedes into total shutdown. I had Holy Chuck for lunch and it’s taking 98% of my body’s processing capability to work through the burger. I used to really big into the excess is best phenomenon of meal prep. I’d make what I dubbed “manwiches”, whereby I’d forego two slices of bread in favour of an entire loaf. I’d slice that loaf in three lengthwise and start to layer. I’d burrow a little into the bottom layer to make room for spreads, meats and cheese. The next layer would have more relishes like chow chow and fancy mustards, then pickles and assorted veges. I’d throw the top on and roast that bastard in the oven. The end result was not so much a meal, but a bread-bound coma. I took one on a plane once and was surprised I didn’t go over my carry-on allowance.
But back to the burger. If you clicked the link above, you’d understand how gratuitous the options were. Double patty and bacon seemed to be the standard, with variations including lamb patties, all bacon patties, fries, grilled cheese sandwiches in place of buns, hot peppers and all manner of depravity. I decided that if I was gonna drop $15 or so on a burger (ended up being $17 after tax) I was at least gonna get something interesting. I opted for The Frustrated Cow, which is listed as thus:
“TWO BLEU BEEF BALLS (PATTIES) SMASHED, THEN TOPPED WITH AGED ST. AGUR BLEU CHEESE, DOUBLE SMOKED BACON, CARAMELIZED ONIONS & SAUTÉED CREAMY GARLIC PORTOBELLOS”
Having the option to get the patties seared, but basically raw, I thought I’d give it a try. I didn’t factor in the “smashed” patties, which resulted in my burger’s core being a large pile of almost raw mince. Sloppy and glorious, the rich blue cheese and garlic portobellos melded to create something of a zen experience. I think I touched the divine, as far as patron saints of the slovenly go. The crispy bacon and caramelised onions created a pleasing counterpoint to the soft mound of gooey gluttony.
Here’s the thing, having eaten that stack, I still felt like something was missing. My stomach didn’t, given its decision to implode, but there was a psychological absence of additional sides. I didn’t get chips or a drink, because I figured with a $17 burger I wouldn’t need to. I was correct, but my hands desired some form of activity. It was mental. It was a matter of habit, being used to snacks flanking a burger. Even if there were a couple of sticks of celery or broccoli, that would’ve been enough to trick my brain. Perhaps I should’ve picked up a Rubik’s Cube to occupy them while I ate. Then again, I wouldn’t be able to lift the burger in that case. Okay, new plan: Rubik’s Cube with hands while eating the mound of burger out of a trough. Elegance incarnate.
Okay, my body has a serious case of graft vs host right now. Signing out.