You know the ones. They come in an oval plastic basket lined with greasy waxed paper. Usually with a pickle wedge and some chips thrown in. Condiments on the side. 1/2 inch of juicy, medium rare, bovine wonder. You bite in and that burst of juice, that wonderfully unique beefiness of a burger, hits your palate.
You can’t duplicate a bar burger at home. At the bar, they are cooked on a flat top grille that has been seasoned with the juices of burgers gone before. Years of flavor are soaked into that grill.
I really miss bar burgers. You see, so many things have changed taste for me since 2006. I’ll take a bite of something I used to love and it will taste like sand or worse. I’m afraid to tarnish the memory of a bar burger. I’m afraid that I’ll bite into one and the taste won’t be what I remember, I’m afraid it will be more reminiscent of a fast food tasting burger. My last good flavor memory. I can smell it, see it in my mind’s eye, just afraid to try one. For those of you not familiar with chemo, it basically kills your taste buds. Most everything for me tasted like it was cooked with pennies. It ruined my taste for most of my favorite foods, because now my brain has the “last taste” programmed, and it wasn’t pretty for a lot of foods.
Oh well, for now I’ll stick with my homemade burgers. I can’t wait to unbury the grill for the summer. I’m tired of cooking inside. I need to drag my smoker out and do a brisket or something. Winter food is boring.