Unfortunately, the bar where I was sitting didn't have burgers (or anyway, not the kind I wanted), and besides, I had other plans. So I had a very nice piece of fish instead, restrained and lovely, set over a bed of quartered sunchokes with a pale yellow citronette. It wasn't the same thing at all....
Later that night, I found myself on the phone with an old friend and all I could talk about was the burger joints in one of the many cities I used to call home. Big burgers and little burgers, thin ones and fat ones, messy ones (the best kind) with which I have ruined innumerable shirts. It was too late for me to score what I was after, but my friend, that little fucker, made straight for the nearest In-n-Out for a double-double. I was jealous to the point of contemplating murder, and went to bed dreaming of ingenious airborne burger-delivery systems (perfect use for all those surplus Predator drones once the robots rise up and enslave us all) and how rich I would have to be, exactly, in order to have a private jet standing by at all times to fly Laura and me to L.A. for a Tommy Burger or to Rochester for a Schaller's burger with hot sauce whenever I wanted. Pretty goddamn rich, was what I came up with. Not the kind of rich that a newspaperman generally becomes. Maybe if I started my own boy band...
Long story short, I didn't start my own boy band, but I did eventually find the burger that I was looking for at Park Burger. It took some time, and not every detail of the journey was pretty. But in the end, I think I got the best of the place.
But my Park Burger meals, which I review in this week's Westword, didn't satiate my cheeseburger craving. And so this week, I also returned to Old School Burgers.
Still, man cannot live on burgers alone. So I'm also serving up news from Jet Entertainment Group, which closed Nine75 but reports that Pizza Republica is doing well. And I've also netted some pretty good deals on lobsters.
Which, I know, has nothing to do with burgers, but still... I'm re talking bargain prices on lobsters, folks. You're welcome in advance.
