Cheeseburger Haiku - Island Burger, part 3

Occupy Burger Town.

Did you know that the top 1% of all burgers have 40% of all burger deliciousness? Or how about that 133 out of the country's best 150 burgers contain bacon, while 78 of that number contain avocado or guacamole. Some say that those two ingredients are unfairly represented on the tasty burger scale, claiming that the ratings are skewed by some outside, malevolent influence. Lately, a lot of people getting up in arms about the inequality of burger deliciousness. Which is why we here at the Cheeseburger Haiku have decided to Occupy Burger Town.

Burger Town is not a place, but a state of mind, or, more specifically, a state of eating--burgers. Every time you are woofing down a burger, the population of Burger Town rises by one. Founded concurrent to the first time someone slapped a hamburger patty between a bun and chompy chomped it, Burger Town has a rich, storied past. Through the years it has been frequented by billions of passers-by, tourists and time-share owners. No one can live in Burger Town permanently, they can only visit it whenever hunger strikes. This hasn't stopped people from trying, however.

Harking back to the 17th century was Hansel von Grawbadinger who tried to continuously eat burgers. Having shoved an impressive 62 cheeseburgers down his throat in just three hours, he died due to drowning in meat, or as the Arkmoor Tribune claimed: "He was strong of both heart and mouth. Twas the insufficient processing at the back end which provided his his demise." Then there was Wilma 'The Gnasher' Harrington who squandered her widow's inheritance on constructing a burger as big as her house. After eating out the center, she lived in the burger house and ate the walls whenever hunger struck, dying a few weeks in to the endeavor due to spoiled meat. And who can forget Augustus H. Cromwell, the scourge of Brighton Rock, who famously trained mice to cook the tiniest burgers ever ("No bigger than a kitten's nipple," as he would often note), so that he may throw back a continuous stream of burgers into his gullet. The plan worked to perfection until delirious old Miss Crenshaw from up the street left the stove on after morning tea and burned her forty-six room manor down, letting loose an army of malnourished, borderline feral house cats into the neighborhood, where they quickly got smart to the mouse-burger factory. Suffice it to say, but Burger Town was overrun with cats during the autumn of 1907, which led to the provision in the Burger Town town charter proclaiming a standard size for admission (and thereby excluding the burger appetizer commonly referred to as the 'slider').

With all of those who have spectacularly failed to occupy Burger Town in the past, what makes us at Cheeseburger Haiku think we're up to the task? We're not, at least not by ourselves. The Cheeseburger Haiku is calling on you and the rest of our burger brethren to take up arms by taking up burgers. Munch down those delicious all-beef patties at any opportunity you get, and when to arrive in Burger Town, take up the chant of the people: "We are the Cheeseburger Haiku! We are the Cheeseburger Haiku!" Make yourselves heard. Tell the world that all burgers should be delicious. That just because a burger commingles with bacon or successfully lobbies for guacamole that it isn't inherently better than the other burgers, or a big, unfair-share-of-deliciousness hoarding jerk burger. Those burgers shouldn't be punished for their deliciousness. It's the other burgers that need to step it up. Let's make bacon the standard and provide an opt-out policy for any weirdos who don't appreciate it. Let's subsidize the guacamole business so that it's as common as ketchup. Take it to the streets of Burger Town. Tell it to the Burgermeister: I am the 99% (who love burgers with bacon and guacamole).

That's what we here at the 575 did this past weekend. We marched right on into the Island Burger (new location!) and ordered the Pepe, consisting of bacon, guacamole, blackened, grilled onion and lettuces. It was a right-good burger, one I've already written about, and thus making it the first repeat burger on the Cheeseburger Haiku.

Cheeseburger Haiku - Island Burger part 2

Greetings Burger Brethren! Welcome back to Cheeseburger Haiku, the poem about, and shaped like, the delicious tasty meat-bread-cheese trinity. In this edition, our resident burgermeister heads back to Island Burger for another go-round at the 60+ offerings on the menu. This time, the burger was called Pepe's. We're not sure who Pepe is, or what he did to earn his own burger, but he must have been something special. Following is a short history of the legend of Pepe, as relayed to the editors of Cheeseburger Haiku in the language of deliciousness:

Pepe was a hard man living in a hard time. His poncho was very big. On the rough plains of Tuscaloosa, Pepe was a donkey herder whose donkey farm was beset by the terrible donkey plague. All of his donkeys were dead or dying or dying to be dead. Pepe's rigid, tan features were  animated by tears for his poor donkeys far too often. One Thursday he saw an ill-portent: a hamster stuck in a hamster ball stuck in a giant tumbleweed tumbling east under a cloudless sky. Pepe was far too familiar with the omen: it had devastated his life once as a youngster already and he'd be darned if he was going to let it happen again, so he loaded up his least dead Donkey and rode out after the hamster stuck in a hamster ball stuck in a tumbleweed. Always just out of reach of his bounty, Pepe followed it all the way to the shores of the Carnie River. There at the banks of the river, he scooped up the ball and was about to give it a good punt into the blue sky, when a haggard witch approached him. After a tense stand off, with tons and tons of squinting, Pepe handed over the ball in exchange for immortality. That day, that very day, Island Burger devised a new burger and called it Pepe's. Then all of Pepe's donkeys got better and everyone was happy.

Cheeseburger Haiku - Island Burger

Hey y'all, back with yet another exciting installment of Cheeseburger Haiku. My name is Josh and I'll be your host this evening. Before we get started, does anyone have any questions? No? Well then, alright, in the words of the great Al Bundy, "Let's Rock."

Today we have Island Burgers and Shakes, a burger and chicken sandwich joint in Heck's Kitchen. This place is amazing. Hands down my favorite burger place so far in the city. With over sixty burgers to choose from, there are lots of burgers to choose from. I chose the Bourbon Street Burger, which comes as follows: blackened with bacon, jack cheese, bayou mayo, grilled onion on sourdough (I opted to get ciabatta for a mere 75 cents more (anyone else notice the lack of a 'cents' symbol on the keyboard? I guess it must not be too necessary if I'm just realizing this now.)).

The place was small but we were seated pretty quickly. One thing I noticed while we waited was that I was dealing with the oft-troublesome thick burger. This hunk o' meat was well over an inch thick at the edges. Fearing a terrible case of the dry meat grinds from the thickness of the burger, I ordered mine med-rare instead of medium. When the burger came, my fears were put to rest by the juicy beast before me. This thing was about as far from the dry meat grinds as could be, putting it in the territory of the dreaded soggy bottom bun (shudder). But worry not, my burger brethren, as I mentioned earlier, I ordered the ciabatta bun, aka the top of the line in preventing SBB.

So the burger was juicy, but was it tasty? Heck yes it was! This was by far my favorite burger in NYC to date. Move on over CK14, we've got a new contender for best of the not west. The meat was oh-so juicy and packed with flavor, so much so that I could see myself eating it on a plain hamburger, not that I'd ever venture into such foolish territory. The toppings were spot on and the bayou mayo packed quite a punch, but not so much that a little beer couldn't quench. I woofed this bad boy down like Homer after he found that Krusty Burger on that off shore oil rig ("We tried to tell you, these are unmanned oil rigs."). I washed it all down with a nice cool Anchor Steam Beer. One of my favorites from the gold state, it went perfectly with my bayou burger in a west-coast themed restaurant on the east coast.

I know I usually don't mention the fries, but I will here. They were good and crispy, and good too.

Island Burger, I will return to thee. But first, a haiku: