Dec 12, 2008
Above: Yes, please. With white truffles and maybe a little gold dust.
Last night I had this nightmare where I had to poop in my kitchen sink; I woke up so. weirded. out. I was like, maybe I should do a quick check in the kitchen--but then realized if I really had pooped in the sink, I'd have to clean it up. So naturally, I went back to sleep. When I finally got back into the REM cycle, the nightmare picked up where I left off, except I was giving birth in my sink to a litter of big-headed alien babies and miniature pigs. Which is probably why I woke up in a rush this morning, craving bacon and supporting space travel.
Yesterday, the Esq and I ventured out to Red Mill Burgers, and for those of you who don't live in Seattle, Red Mill is supposedly the best burger in town. Everyone recommends their burgers, gushing about them with fervent, preteen excitement; my friends talk about their first Red Mill burger experiences in the same wistful tone I imagine men using when remembering the first boob they ever touched. And after ingesting the infamous Red Mill burger--a bacon cheeseburger, in fact--I can totally see how someone might consider it "the best burger in Seattle", if that someone had no mouth and was also missing a nose. These body parts enable you to smell and taste the goddamn thing, which the citizens of Seattle clearly aren't doing, because my burger tasted like ass rolled in condiments and dipped in century-old kerosene.
Okay, that might be a slight overstatement, but only because I don't know what century-old kerosene tastes like (although I'm tempted to say it tastes like a Red Mill burger). What did it really taste like? A burger. A weak one. My dad makes thicker, juicier, more flavorful burgers on the ol' barbecue at home; anyone with a barbecue could. The burger itself was really thin, so all I tasted was fiery residue and the condiments; the fries were apparently cooked in the oil that cab drivers of unknown foreign origin use in their slicked-back hair. I could have squeezed a ton of oil out of those french fries, which is also how I feel about those cab drivers.
I won't be going back. Not when there's a cowboy burger I love out there--at King's in Ballard, and Dad Watson's in Fremont--that has a fairly good meat patty and lots of cheese, topped with lettuce, onion, pickles, tomatoes, tons-o-bacon, and one perfect fried egg... breakfast and dinner, in one fell swoop. That's my idea of a burger. I also love grass-fed beef on burgers, which they serve at the Chow Foods restaurants; I love the burgers at Atlas and Coastal Kitchen. I'm actually looking forward to their company Christmas party this week, because the theme is 'A Nightmare Before Christmas'. Haven't you always wanted to go 'Gothic Halloween' for a Christmas party?
Also, I stand by my Tweet from yesterday: 'sn0tty questions the legitimacy of your American citizenship if you don't put bacon on your burgers.'