Don’t You Dare Hold the Mayo

We decided to go out for burgers last night.  Rarely does this occur because a) so often the burgers out there are crappy ,and b) Marc insists we make a better burger than anything we could find out there.   For the most part, I must agree:  unless willing to sit down at a rather up-scale-ish restaurant and pay $14, a fine and tasty burger is rare, no pun intended.   Ironically, the burgers we make are probably not far from $14 each, what with the sustainable beef, the Niman Ranch thick-cut bacon and pricey cheese that gets piled on a Marcburger.   These also involve home-made herbed mayonnaise and caramelized onions, so you can see why it is hard to warrant going out.   Once in a blue moon, however, we find ourselves with the potential for little more than cereal and vodka for supper and so must venture out, whether we like it or not.

There is a Burgermeister down the street that has won all kinds of awards and accolades for its gourmet burgers.  The word “gourmet” is hardly a descriptive adjective anymore, arguably providing no more information than the word “large”- it’s all relative, and so much overused.    I would argue that “gourmet” is code for “expensive” and has nothing to do with the quality of the food.   From this, one might surmise that I am less than enthralled by the Burgermeister’s gourmet, award-laden burgers.     It is true.  They talk a mean game but the buns are dry and the beef is, strangely, flavourless, like they forgot to add the salt.

So last night, we walked further to visit Darla’s.


Interesting-  she doesn’t insist she’s “The Best”, allows for the possibility of a better burger.   These are not what I expected:  hand-molded patties cooked to order of doneness (cooking to order seems just an American thing, right up there with Chicken ‘n Waffles), topped with mayo, thick, smoky bacon and melted cheese, served with onions, lettuce, pickles, mustard and ketchup on the side. I like the stuff on the side- easier to get the way I like it.  And like it I most certainly did.    The woman who was our server, I think she was the eponymous Darla, came up to the table after we had had a few bites and said, “I had a burger earlier today and it was really fucking good.  How’s yours?”

“Really fucking good.”

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