A thorough comparison of the best hamburgers in the city requires a controlled study in which I methodically order the same, or similar, burgers at each place I deign to visit. This is not that kind of blog.
With an hour to kill before the showing of Revolutionary Road at BAM Cinematek, it was with great intent and purposefullness that I ordered the Southwestern burger at 67 Burger in Fort Greene. Why Southwestern? I don’t know, but Nina certainly didn’t approve. Revolutionary Road? Because Nina had suffered Defiance, my choice of movies, last week, and I was feeling particularly egalitarian, despite my better instincts.
We are strangers at neither BAM nor 67 Burger. I usually pick the Parisian burger for myself before our movie dates… and that’s about the extent of my say in the matters at hand. Nina also goes for the Parisian and the type of subtitled flicks where a gorgeous woman is psychologically abused by her man through no fault of her devoted self; or some poor child is neglected by its domineering parents, undeservedly so considering how sweet and generous it truly is for its tiny not-yet-degenerately-adult sized shape. We both agree that lately the Parisian is too salty.
Sitting in the back row of the theater, I noisily rustled open the brown paper bag while the trickle of people flooded into the seats in front of us. I knew they could all hear me unpacking my food, even though they tried not to show it. Couldn’t they smell it too? Like cockroaches, word spread among the black and white happily integrated cinematek-loving neighborhoodies, and the theater quickly filled up with two toned people removing solid colored winter clothing.
That perceived power over the others’ appatitive senses I felt, added to the anticipation of medium-rare ground beef , really got my blood flowing. And before I had had a chance to take a photo, a large bite was missing from my burger, as evidenced in photos taken after regaining my composure.
Southwestern burger with a bite missing
My first thought was that it did not taste especially Southwestern. In fact, it didn’t have much flavor at all. I had expected chili or some nasty text-mex spice thing for some reason. Obviously I hadn’t bothered to read the menu. The only addition that made my burger different from a standard cheeseburger was the use of monterrey jack cheese instead of processed American, whatever that is. The monterrey jack had pepper embedded in its rubber cement texture, which added a bit of zest, like a handprint in a newly poured sidewalk.
The contents of the burger were, in-fact, relatively standard: bottom bun -> medium rare ground beef -> rubber cement with pepper pieces -> three pickle slices (forming the points of an equilateral triangle) -> a single slice of tomato -> concentric red onion circles -> some sort of menstrual mayonnaise (maybe the pink was a touch of cayenne pepper) -> top bun with a few sesame seeds.
As Nina pointed out after discovering that the Bacon Cheeseburger she had ordered had no bacon, the bun on both our burgers was lightly and nicely toasted, giving them a pleasant soft-but-secure texture. Her meat patty was covered in melted orange plastic. 67 Burger had been careful enough to choose a cheese that could not easily be identified as American.
Bacon cheeseburger with the bacon missing
The Southwestern burger disappeared very quickly, with no lasting effect on my psyche. Maybe it was the lack of bacon, but the flavor was pleasant though unremarkable. The monterrey jack cheese with its artificially strong-flavored pepper pieces dominated the palatte, which was not as negative an effect as one would be lead to expect. Yet, as is not uncommon, Nina was correct: I should undoubtedly have canceled my impulsive order in deference to a regular bacon cheeseburger.
The fact that 67 Burger even offers a Southwestern option may sow the seeds of doubt in the meaty minds of some skittish ground beef gourmands. But I can tell you that it’s really nothing to worry about. It’s nothing to even think about. I’ve forgotten it already.
thank you, master