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| - Cheeburger, Cheeburger!
It's a restaurant called Cheeburger, Cheeburger!!
The little kid in me squealed with delight.
Like pasghetti and sammiches, cheeburgers are one of those willfully mispronounced foodstuffs that bring back a little nostalgia. They remind me of those rare days when we'd all pile in my chain smoking babysitter's Caddy and cruise to McD's for cheeburgers, cheapo happy meal toys, and a romp in the pee covered ball pin.
Urine, second hand smoke, and cheeburgers. I couldn't fathom a better combination at that age.
Then again we didn't have Cheeburger, Cheeburgers when I was a kid. If we did I'd be eating my kid's meal out of a super sweet pink hot rod that looks almost identical to the Barbie mobile, sippin' my hand shaken soda and munchin' on a cheeburger, American, ketchup. I'm in my twenties but I still wanted one of those little card stock car boxes, even if my taste in toppings has become a bit more adventurous.
Just because my tastebuds have matured doesn't make me any more decisive now than I was then. Not a good thing with a place that boasts 50 or so toppings for you burger (or chicken sandwich, or salad-- they're all based on the same "every order is a special order" model). I didn't even attempt to figure out what kind of fancy pants shake or soda flavor I wanted (100 flavors, people! 100!!) and just kept it simple with a glass of water in a mason jar. The fries vs. onion rings debate was also too heated, but a basket of crisp and delicious frings came to the rescue. The onion rings were thin and lightly battered, definitely the better of the two options, and the fries were fresh cut and uber greasy, just how I like 'em, even if they were under-salted.
In the end I went with a Classic green chile cheddar burger with the traditional fixins (lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, mustard, ketchup). It was cooked to a perfect medium and the price was right, ringing in at about 5 bucks. I agree that the top bun was way too big in comparison to the bottom, but I solved that by shaving half of it off so I could wrap my mouth around that thick slab of meat, because let's face it people, the bun is just filler. It's all about the meat. It was messy and juices were dripping all over my face, and I must have gone through at least four paper towels, but hot diggity damn, it was a great burger.
The smallest burger possible (the Classic) is about five ounces or so and they increase incrementally until you reach the big mamba jamba 20 ounce 'nother nail in the coffin coronary on a bun. I can't even guess how many pieces of cheese it takes to cover that beast. I did however witness two people finish this outrageous burger while I was enjoying my dainty (by comparison) fare. Both gastric champions had their pictures taken with a gigando stuffed cheeburger (I would have worn it as a hat), and then had their image pasted on the wall of shame...err...fame.
My inner child's parting words are: "Cheeburger! Cheeburger! Go eat cheeeeeburgerrrrrs!"
My more mature counterpart: "Ahem, a myriad of combinations are possible between burgers, shakes and sides, variety enough to satisfy even the most discerning of palates and leave everyone...CHEEBURGER!!!"
P.S. Fuck Red Robin in its bony little chicken wing. This place is miles ahead of that bland dump.
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