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| - It's bar food, but it is bar food magnifique, and before I say anything else, I will thank Dan, a dear friend from way, way back and beer connoisseur for bringing Kay and I here prior to the magnificent Mastodon/Opeth/Ghost gig that occurred Sunday evening.
Let me also immediately knock off a star for the rubbery (frozen?) calamari that served as our appetizer.
After said letdown was cleared from the road, the rest of the meal became one glorious, top-down cruise, even for someone like myself who abstains from the demon alcohol.
If you've ever been to one of the Sharp Edge franchises or have had a gander at their menu, you know that I was in a burger Shangri-La.
I for one knew little about SE going in other than that they specialize in beer, but when Dan mentioned that they serve ostrich burgers...a tingle shot up my backbone and into my brain. I'd never even thought of sampling this warrior-bird before, let alone in ground meat form.
Now, the patty is not pure ostrich. Minced sirloin is mixed into the ostrich to keep it from being "gamey" I suppose and to add some fat to the proceedings. Caramelized red onion, black pepper, pepperjack cheese, and dijon mustard are included as well as the standard tomato, onion, lettuce, dill pickle chips (nice ones at that) but wait...ancho chile mayonnaise you say?
The addition of artichoke hearts was my wacky idea, and I ended the modifications right there. This burger had its specific build for a reason, so despite the customization options, I trusted the chef, for the most part.
Uhh...*stammering* I really don't know how to describe the meat.
In all seriousness, my mind is an empty, white room at this moment.
Well...*deep breath* I must make an attempt, no?
Lean, wild, fierce, alien, it was a cheetah whose DNA was spliced with that of a gamecock by a perversely martial genetic engineer, killed in a jousting match, put through a grinder, and grilled to a dead-on medium rare, which like the artichoke hearts, was also my idea. I have finally learned of the ideal temperature for burger supremacy, and it is to know Canaan.
Ah, I forgot to mention the cushiony, luxuriously toasted Kaiser bun that made the entire burger possible. My thumbs left deep impressions in the bread when I first picked it up. Juices dripped from the burger onto the plate as if it was a freshly gashed and squeezed lemon. Yet the bread would not disintegrate despite its comforting flexility. Dan laughed approvingly, knowing instantly before I did, before I took bite one, that my decisions were borne of sheer gastronomic guile and a willingness to gamble, experiment.
Exotic proteins were tamed by both the sugared allium only to be riled by the acid of the mustard and riled again by the pepperjack and riled further by that gorgeous, vibrant orange aioli. Each chomp contained a lifetime's worth of flavors that I've only begun to paint a word portrait of and have failed miserably at.
It was to eat a burger from another world. To pass on it and simply opt for a standard sirloin would have been cowardly and tragic.
The Belgian Frites were a mass of deep-fried potato virtuosity. Crumbly and luminously flaxen of jacket, each tater stave revealed a muggy, downy core that indicated a mastery and passion for the preparation of french fries. These were not merely blanched, these were cooked, wholly.
And with that, my burger weekend had begun and ended winningly. I could have ended my meal then and there without regret, but I coveted, craved The Belgian Chocolate Pudding.
As the goblet of creamed cocoa iniquity was placed before me by our waitress Johanna, Dan stated, "Maaan, that ain't Swiss Miss out of a packet." Nor was it Jello. Bill Cosby would mosh, not dance, if he ate this.
Nor was it made by Hershey. Profoundly chocolatey, the Callebaut, imported from Belgium, made its presence known throughout the entirety of my mouth, telling me through telepathy--and this chocolate was as alive and darkened as the Venom symbiote--that I was enjoying superior chocolate, the finest in all the globe. A chocolatier, a specialist, concieved this chocolate, and the pudding, which must be classed as the greatest I have ever consumed, was merely a way to showcase it. Whoever crafted this pudding has reclaimed what has been corrupted by mass production, vending machines, and lunch hour. Not that they were at all necessary, but whipped cream, roasted almond shards, a raspberry sauce, and a pirouline, that most addictive of canned, cylindrical wafers (and I will eat a can of 'em), acted as swell embellishments.
Sometimes you just need to listen to people who care about you, who know you, and know what you love to eat in order to find a satisfying meal. After all, whatever did we do before Yelp?
P.S. Expert beer drinker Dan adored his beer. He also loves Church Brew Works. So to the snobs, I thumb my nose.
P.P.S. Kay's Curry Mussels were A-1. 'Nuff said.
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