| rev:text
| - You're wondering why a teetotaler such as myself wandered into this smoky, boozy, somewhat rowdy joint on a Friday night with his innocent girlfriend in tow.
It was for the incredibly incandescent and tempting food, of course.
Yes, I did reference the primoridial element that has advanced us as a species...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGdarQGuNeo
My weekend crusade of crushing burgers continued compulsively, carnally as if I was channeling a long-dead barbarian who wanted me to...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVhuUNUmMnI
A half-pound of Hell awaited me at the Hop House like the Minotaur did for Theseus.
Adorned with a cape of molten cheddar, painted martially with an ensanguined BBQ sauce (blood of its enemies?), and armed with onion straws, bacon, and a dill pickle strap, the substantial, medium-rare patty came clad in a flaky, downy bun.
With the first bite, I knew that I held a champion in my hands, one that was flanked by an army of terrifically battered and fried tater sticks.
The burger was akin to a birthday cake of minced beef. The BBQ sauce had a sweetness and twang to it that made it akin to a melted-down Jolly Rancher candy. The onion straws brought a crunchy texture. The bacon added fatty and salty heft. The cheddar tried in vain to cut everything as the dill pickle was merely there to make things more interesting. The skin of the bread...crumbled while keeping the burger as a whole intact...somehow.
Disarmed, defeated, delightful, this was a brutal burger for our time, for all time.
A generous helping of cole slaw acted as a crisp, cool respite as I did battle out on the patio on a brisk Friday evening, the wind chilling my bones, the food bracing me up, the cheers of Penguins fans tricking me into thinking that they were an audience for the gladiatorial spectacle I was embroiled in.
Having mentioned that, we only went outside since the interiors were packed and seating was at a premium. I think they could have afforded to put a space heater out there or at least lit the dormant oven that stood nearby. Nonetheless, our magnificent meal was capped off by a fried, astutely plated cheesecake that is called Xango and was Hop House's lone dessert. As if cheesecake wasn't decadent enough, plunging it into hot oil encased in a pastry dough only serves to make it more depravedly delicious, and this was no omission. There's nothing like the sensation of crunching through a shell-like coating with your teeth to unleash a combination of sugar and cream that floods your entire palate, sticking to your tongue and the ceiling of your mouth...
The Hop House needs no other dessert, but YOU, the diner needs to make your way to the West End so as to sample dishes that are brushed by blazing embers stoked by masters of their craft and cuisine.
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