Oh so delicious and not-so-nutritious, I would be a much skinnier, much sadder man without them in my life.
While I was in New York for two weeks, I put a lot of effort into making sure my travels took me past new burger joints, or past old ones to try something new. My top priority on my first day in the city was to locate a Shake Shack and see what all the fuss is about. The fuss was a bout a great burger, awesome crinkle-cut fries and a shake of such thickness that neither my cheeks or my straw were up to the task of drawing it out in its freshly made state. It was blissful. I had many more burgers during my stay, from many other burger joints, and I would be hard pressed to pick a favourite.
In the past three months of bratwurst and cheese and bread and pork, I thought I’ve fallen into a depression, not knowing when I would get my next taste hit of brioche, bacon and cheese-wrapped meaty goodness.
And then I found it. My new place of worship. Lit by a divine light (or perhaps just the yellow tungsten singe of Germany’s night) not five minutes walk from our house, was 90419 Burger Bar. It began life last year as a one-man band, one guy making killer burgers from local ingredients. He was onto a winner, by the time we first turned up late last year he had a restaurant with seating for 50, a chef churning out his recipes, and a full burger bar almost every night.
We went again last night, and somehow the burgers have gotten better since we were last there. He’s upgraded to nicer menus, some brilliantly tasty flourishes (Parmesan chips anyone?) and an extra server. Juicy, fresh, encased in melted cheese, bacon and caramelised onions, I had slipped into one of the most satisfying food comas of my life by the time I was done.
It’s dangerous having something this good so close. Even now, not even a day gone, I can feel the itch returning. the need to feel that warm hug of comfort food. I’ll need a lot of discipline, a fridge full of ingredients and mirrors everywhere to prevent myself in dying a happy, burger-fueled death.
But what’s a little slip now and then between friends…