Making the perfect burger is a God-given concern. And by perfect, I mean it should be absolutely imperfect thereby confirming its perfection.
Condiments (ketchup, mustard, mayo, obviously) oozing and spurting from one side, a grease-laden bun that shines in the sunlight and blinds passers-by, and two malformed steaming beef patties that drip with juicy grease. The buns should act like soft sponges effectively soaking up the last drop of juice. Heavy on the pickles, light on the attitude, this burger – and every good burger – screams: “This is me. Take me as I am or leave me for my flavors to marry until some other deserving individual picks me up and appreciates every bite.”
While I’m not one to deny the pleasures of a Big Mac, fast food chains offer a certain deceptive treachery that threaten the quality and standards of hamburgers everywhere. Think of any fast food commercial. Not only do all their burgers look exactly alike, but not one sesame seed is out of place. I cannot believe that there are people who individually glue them onto the bun with tweezers. Impudent trickery, I call it! And they expect to be compensated generously for their toils. But any respectable person knows that this is nothing but a cheap ploy; any awesome person would wait for the real thing at the price of a little inconvenience. A real burger should be made with real ingredients, a good hamburger should look sloppy, unassuming, unique, and of genuine effort. And of course, if you must unhinge your jaw to clamp down on the whole thing, you know that that is a burger worth Skyping home about.
Just like how the people who accept and celebrate their flaws are the people worth getting to know, the perfect burger worth getting to know is sure to be an ugly-beautiful mess that spurts liquids all over my blouse, like a delectable Jackson Pollock. My burger theory: any decent person can spot and appreciate a decent burger. This hasn’t failed me yet! And a very cool person indulges at least once a week. Let’s call it basic life maintenance.