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| - i don't ask much in my search for the perfect burger. Yes, it's nice to dine in a well kept restaurant. It's also enjoyable when the staff is interactive and friendly. A buzzing atmosphere is always a nice touch.
But when it comes down to it, when I'm looking for the Taj Mahal of burgers, it all balances on what is served. And let me tell you, RBT knows how to serve a burger that will satisfy your deepest bovine desires.
The menu is full of unique and staple burger offerings. The one that caught my attention, however, was the PBJ and Bacon burger. Upon reading the burger's description, I felt more conflicted than a Southern Baptist at a Castro District drag show.
"Wait a minute, PBJ does not belong on a burger!"
"What?! The patty is drenched in sriracha?!"
"I can get it with a pretzel bun as well?!"
The universe, as I saw it, was collapsing everywhere I looked. None of this made any sense to my respectable burger palate, and I yearned to taste this forbidden concoction of beef, bacon, thai hot sauce, and pb&j. Not to be outdone by the unique burger, I forewent the pedestrian side of fries and ordered the Jamaican corn to accompany my otherworldly dish.
What happened when dinner was served is somewhat of a blur. No, I was not intoxicated (in the traditional sense) - I can only compare it to the moment when you first meet your soulmate. That moment you will never forget, but cannot remember to the fullest detail. With my very first bite, my synapses were firing at a rate that a M134 Minigun couldn't match. My eyes bulged with intense fulfillment, my skin emitted a cool sweat of indulgence, and I could have sworn I heard the faithful tune "Take my Breath Away" ringing in my subconscious state of euphoria. I had found it, the perfect burger was in my grasp and I felt unworthy.
The burger, like most fleeting romances, was gone before I could sincerely take in the magnitude of this event. Fortunately, the Jamaican corn was still at my disposal, and may God turn me into a horny toad if that side wasn't an outstanding compliment to the burger. Now the Jamaican corn wasn't from the same metaphysical realm from which the PBJ and Bacon burger originated, but it was more like a swan song for my recently departed dish, an ultimate tribute for the tantric experience of RBT.
RBT delivered when it counted most, and I'm not talking about a swift thrill, I'm talking about the kind of satisfaction that is almost melancholy, as if my burger pilgrimage was finally complete. Time will only tell if this is true, but until then, RBT is the home of my favorite burger.
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