One ugly hamburger
King Daddy: “You’re going to make fun of me on the blog aren’t you?”
Me: “Yes. Yes I am. This is ludicrous.”
It’s not nice to make fun of childhood food memories as I am about to do. I have plenty of weird ones and if K.D. had his own blog he could make fun of me for such culinary triumphs as peanut butter and butter sandwiches and a piece of Oscar Mayer bologna wrapped around cottage cheese, French dressing and potato chips.
What? Don’t those sound delicious!
What Mark wanted to make was hamburgers the way his mother used to make them. With plain white bread. Untoasted.
“Honey, you don’t mind if I make mine a little differently do you?” He clearly minded. He wanted me to experience the culinary wonder of a hockey puck on plain white bread. But I have only so many calories left in this life and I was not going to go there.
I won’t keep you in suspense. This is my husband’s childhood memory.
Hamburger. Iceberg lettuce. Tomato. Onion. Ketchup. Mustard. Plain white bread. He actually wanted Wonder Bread but I have my limits.
He took a bite and turned into a five year old. I get it. A childhood memory.
But what happens when you violate the structural integrity of a hamburger? This happens.
King Daddy loved it when the bread started to disintegrate. Loved it. And he also loved the bread sticking to the roof of his mouth. I’m sorry if I’m grossing ya’ll out but you didn’t have to stand there and watch it happen.
So I made my burger a completely different way. A noble way. The right way.
Okay, I’m lying. I did make this hamburger but at another day and time. But this is what a hamburger should look like. However, it’s not a childhood memory. I can live with that.