Ode to a Cheeseburger

A love story.

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and hunger

my stomach can reach

I love thee freely, by grill pan or cast iron

I love thee purely, as I strive for medium rare

I love thee with passion put to use

in my recipes, and with my culinary skill

I love thee to the level of every days’

carnivorous calls, by gas flame and by charcoal

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It’s that time of year when you see bags of charcoal at the store, you get out your tools, and you grill, baby, grill.

When I was in my twenties, my family and close friends labeled me a vegetarian. When the list of meats/fowl/fish that you don’t eat is long, I guess that’s what happens. I’d have a turkey sandwich once in a while, maybe a basket of fish and chips, but mostly I ate vegetables, legumes, and eggs. I was the girl who just ate the side dishes at a meal. I was never overly excited about beef or pork or chicken, I just phased it out of my diet.  I explained to people, “I don’t like pork chops or ham.  Like some people don’t like Brussels sprouts.” I still got a lot of eye rolling though. Especially when I’d arrive at a cookout with my frozen Gardenburger in tow.

Then, I discovered cooking, Food Network, gourmet markets. Attending food tastings and cooking classes opened my eyes, heightened my taste buds. A simple theory:  good ingredients = good food.

Before my vegetarian years, my experience with burgers was limited. I can still remember when my little hometown got both a McDonald’s and a Burger King. My dad preferred Burger King because they charbroiled their burgers. Actual grill marks!

When my family had cookouts, they grilled hamburgers. They were very well done and by that I mean, they were cooked to death. All I could smell was the lighter fluid they used to light the grill.

My parents grew up going to Bob’s Big Boy. In the sixties, it was a drive-in and popular spot for teenagers’ date nights. Later on, they’d take me out when they needed a burger fix. A Big Boy was a double decker burger, the precursor to Big Mac. My mom and dad especially loved the special Big Boy sauce, basically a version of Thousand Island dressing. I remember when my mom moved to Michigan and went to Bob’s Big Boy there, she was severely disappointed to find they used tartar sauce on their version of a Big Boy. She learned to request the Ohio Big Boy sauce on further visits.

My gateway back into the land of the carnivorous was a Swiss and mushroom burger at Zingerman’s Roadhouse in Ann Arbor, MI. It was date night and my dreamy boyfriend took me out for dinner after a stressful week.

Because of my newfound interest in real food and real cooking, I decided that it was the night to explore new horizons.

I ordered the Swiss and wild mushroom burger, medium.  While we waited, we talked about our hellish weeks, the upcoming holidays.  I had no idea heaven would be arriving in moments.  With a side of fries.

The waitress appeared with my plate.  I immediately stopped talking and took in my plate, eyes wide. The burger was plated opened face.  I could see the mound of dark brown, honey colored, earthy wild mushrooms. I could see the oozy, nutty Swiss cheese. I placed the lettuce, tomato, pickle, and red onion slices on the burger, topped it with the buttery, toasted brioche bun and cut it in half. Yep, it was a perfect medium.

I picked up the burger to take a bite.  I needed both hands! The first thing I noticed was that aroma.  That perfect, chargrilled burger aroma.  No lighter fluid here. Then the first bite.  Juicy burger, dripping down my chin. Warm earthy bites of mushrooms. Crispy, cold lettuce and onion. Acidic tomato and sour pickle cutting through the richness of the Swiss cheese.

Vegetarian?  Not anymore!  I wanted many more dates with burgers.  And that dreamy boyfriend.

(That burger is $18 in 2022. Without the cheese. That’s $2 extra.)

That was the first of what became a parade of burger memories. They still bring a smile to my face. Since then, I’ve put a lot of time and effort into finding the next best burger.

G and I would go out of our way to stop at Michael Symon’s B Spot in Cleveland after long road trips to visit his family in New York. Travel weary, we looked forward to fortifying ourselves during a burger break before the last leg home to Michigan.

In California, we had our first In-N-Out burgers by the Wharf. We loved stopping at Gott’s Roadside in St. Helena during a day of wine tasting.

In Vegas, I found Strip Burger and Bobby’s Burger Palace.

While writing this issue, I realized that I’ve shared many happy burger memories with my friend, Sarika. Pre-Covid, she and I would meet for girls’ weekends in New York and Chicago. Between museums, cocktails, and arthouse movie theaters, we’d typically find a burger place. In New York, we had a Shake Shack moment. In Chicago, we went to Small Cheval.

The best though was when we found a secret burger joint behind a velvet curtain in the lobby of the Parker Meridien Hotel in New York City. We peeked behind the curtain and found a long, dark hallway. We followed it and turned a corner to find a dive burger joint paradise. We cheered each other with our burgers and felt impossibly cool, even it wasn’t a well kept secret, since there were so many burger lovers there, including Mitt Romney and a gaggle of his sons.

Nowadays, I take Bobby Flay’s lead; ground beef, formed into patties, and heavily salted and peppered on both sides. I cook them in a cast iron skillet and have a burger fest at home.

Do you have a favorite burger? Do share!

Thanks again for reading. I care about you. Please don’t forget to eat your greens.

***Written to George Michael’s Listen Without Prejudice