Monthly Archives: February 2011

I Love a Good Burger

I’m hungry, and when I get really hungry there’s one thing I think of.  So this one’s going to be about burgers.

Who doesn’t love burgers—that immortal staple of Americana: the hamburger.

There are few things in life that make one feel as good as biting into a truly beautiful burger.  The list of things more satisfying then enjoying the perfection that is the culinary masterpiece of a finely crafted,  yet simple, controlled and understated burger is short, consisting of a hot shower, new socks, and a great blowjob (for chicks reading this insert ‘making love and cuddling afterward’ for blowjob and we’ll all be the same page).

Now when I say finely crafted burger, I’m talking about a nice, thick piece of meat.  This carcass of ground baby cow needs to be the diameter of a dessert plate and no less than half an inch thick. 

If it’s less than that, I might as well go to McDonald’s for their heat lamp soggy cardboard burgers, or Wendy’s for one of their “we’re so unique with our square burgers even though the corners break off when we wrap them up”

Seriously, why not make a square bun?  How is all that burger-corner not going to break off when placed on a clearly smaller circular bun and gets wrapped up?  It’s possible to make a square roll.  I’ve had ciabatta rolls.  Those are square, I know you can make a square hamburger roll Wendy.  Besides, McDonald’s actually released a square mini-burger in Germany.  And do you know what, it looks delicious.  Not only does it look delicious, but the burger itself is round.  Its a round burger on a square bun.  so Wendy, what’s your problem?

Of course, you’re still eating at Wendy’s.  That means playing the little “I just ate at Wendy’s can I make it home before my shit liquefies and vomits out of my ass when I think I just need to fart” game, but that’s a topic for another time.

Be wary when offered more than the basic burger accoutrements.  You don’t need layers and extras, you just need a tasty burger.  This is what makers of shitty burgers need to do to compensate for a fast food burger patty.

If you’re calling it a patty, you shouldn’t be eating it.  It should be known as a well grilled slab of meat, or simply meat, and nothing else.  There’s no need to try and get creative, its only complicating what should be the simplest thing in the world.  Meat.  Bread.  Grill.  Eat.

So back to the point: burgers—half an inch, no less.  If you want to go more … that’s entirely fine as well.

Next up, I want lettuce, onion and tomatoes, and let’s clarify this point:

The lettuce needs to be fresh and green, don’t skimp on pieces of iceberg lettuce you pulled from near that little knotty chunk at the bottom of the head.  Yeah, that might give you crisp, but its white, I don’t need that.  You better just avoid iceberg entirely now I think about it.  I want real lettuce, green lettuce; I want a good Leaf Lettuce, some Lactuca sativa var. crispa.  And don’t even think about slicing or dicing that lettuce, don’t give me ingredients to coleslaw on my burger.  So no chopping, do not chop the lettuce.  I want a leaf of lettuce.

My onion and tomato need to be thick slices.  Same as the lettuce, there is no excuse for slicing or dicing.  I didn’t ask for salsa.  I asked for onion and I asked for tomato.  I want them juicy and I want them crunchy.  I want to hear that onion crack when I bite down and I want tomato spooge and burger juice running down my hand while I devour this entire burger without setting it down once.  That’s how awesome this burger should be.  I want this burger to be so tasty I can’t bear to put it down for an instant.

I won’t be strict about the type of onion.  Your typical white onion is the iconic choice, I know, but when I make burgers myself, I tend towards red onions.  But really, as long as I get a couple slices of onion that would make the best onion rings shudder with inferiority and shame, I’m happy.

Of tomatoes I need two slices cut from around the middle of the tomato so each one is as round as my burger.  They should be set to resemble the Mastercard logo for maximum meat coverage, an evenly distributed flavor experience.

I enjoy cheese, mushrooms, bacon, ketchup, mustard and pickles, but I’m going to be honest here:  I don’t need them.

You know what I need?  Honestly, if you can’t answer that by now, I’m not sure why you’re still reading.

I need a fucking burger, that’s what I need.  I need a burger, a bun, and some lettuce, onion and tomato.

Everything else?  Everything else is really just compensating for subpar baby cow.

That being said, Red Robin, what the fuck is this?  Are you kidding me?  What are those, French fried onions?  Oh, that’s right, I’m sorry, you call them onion straws.

And what is that, on the bottom right?  Chopped salad—not just lettuce, but salad?  You put a bag of chopped salad on a burger?

And what is going on with the one above it?  You can’t be serious.  You put about two cups of guacamole on that thing, how is that appetizing?  And the burger itself is lying on what?  A lovely bed of patriotically colored tortilla strips?

Really?  Really Red Robin?

What are you doing with this Mt. Olympus burger?  Shredded lettuce and some kind of sauce you put on like you’re spackling a hole in the wall, and what is that, green feta cheese?  That looks disgusting.  And besides, it’s called a Mt. Olympus burger.  Shouldn’t it have ambrosia on it, with the marshmallows and oranges, and whatever else is in it?  Or is that going too far?  Is that getting too ridiculous for you?

It might be, that stuff looks like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man threw up a fruit cocktail.  But isn’t that what they ate up there on Mt. Olympus?   I think that’d be better then rotten feta.

I like the square ciabatta roll though, maybe we could buy one of these for Wendy, get her onboard with that, show her that it is possible to serve a burger on a square roll.  Even if that burger is this abomination.

I thought we were friends.  You made me a cheeseburger once, and it was pretty good.  But this?  A burger?  Did you say a burger?  You call this here, and that up there, a burger?

You disappoint me.  This has really gotten out of hand.

…and your commercials are friggin annoying too, stop that.

A Letter to the Order on the Occassion of their February 1st Meeting

In lieu of attending the meeting Organizational Meeting of February 1st due to employment obligations, I would like to submit this modest proposal to the Order of Buffalo Ltd., also known as the Fraternal Order of Buffalo, aka ManNight.

Gentlemen, in the past weeks we have discussed amongst men, argued like children and been hysterically preached at by Mike, regarding the creation and evolution of the Order of Buffalo’s line of clothing.  As any of you who have followed even just this past week’s progress on Buffalo Soap Box have seen, this selection of hats and variety of logo designs presents an incredible opportunity for the Order.  It is an opportunity, not only for modest monetary gain, but for the branding of our organization and the broadening of our audience.

There is, however, one thing I have felt was lacking amidst the talk of potential products and the submission of designs, and I would like to take a moment to address this absence.

Wristbands.  Specifically, sweat wristbands.  More specifically: manly, badass sweat wristbands.

I ask you gentlemen, who doesn’t love a little piece of retro, a small slice of nostalgia?  From a throwback jersey, to a vintage car, to banging an ex-girlfriend, everyone loves a little piece of the past.  It appeals to our sense of place, our need to belong and be a part of a bigger existence.

The beauty of this product is that it appeals to virtually any demographic.  Who doesn’t love a trendy wristband?  And wait, it’s a sweatband too?  Sign me the fuck up.

Consider, for a moment, the versatility of this product; from your average workout enthusiast, to your more dedicated 80s clothing aficionados. Or whether that annoying group at the other end of the bar thinks they’re in an episode of Glee, or spent more on their vintage outfits than you did on rent, you can bet that the one thing they don’t have, and the one thing they truly need, is a wicked Order-advertising/Buffalo-promoting/perspiration-crushing wristband.


But this isn’t just for fashion, and this isn’t just to look awesome.  The Order is, above all, intended to support the city and its residents; to stand up when others stand by, and to lend a hand in even the most simple of ways.

So, gentlemen, I ask you—I implore you—to consider this seemingly basic article of clothing, and I do so not for myself, but for the hipsters of Buffalo.

The hipster has been a misunderstood race since its discovery, often persecuted for their perceived bastardization of style and culture, as well as a lack of basic hygiene practices.  But the hipster’s enviable flagrant anti-theMan mentality and their regurgitation of multiple rejected and often archaic fashion styles, have often been misconstrued as hostile to mainstream culture.   This is not the case however; as it is the hipster, more than any other attention-seeking fashion clique that seeks acceptance.

As a growing movement intended to benefit the city in which we live, supported by several members educated under the Jesuit principle of “men for others,” I ask you not to forsake our hipster brethren.

To turn our backs on this subculture, to deny them a small fashion accessory indicative of a much craved solidarity not only with our burgeoning grassroots movement, but with the city itself, could have disastrous effects on their individual and collective wellbeing.

It is well documented that hipsters with an inadequate number of mismatched fashion accessories will soon turn on each other.  Known informally as “hipster-cannibalism,” packs of hipsters will soon devour one another’s inconceivably chosen wardrobe to complete their own.

Should they avoid this particularly disturbing outcome, many hipsters become disoriented; their speech is slurred and conversation with one is almost entirely nonsensical.  This state is often confused by squares as the effect of excessive alcohol consumption or illegal drug use, but extensive research has shown this to be erroneous as the hipster is a clean living creature, shunning mind or body altering substances of any kind.

To turn our backs on this proud people—nay! to turn our backs on the very founding principles of the Order to which we have claimed allegiance is to risk a future of lost and aimless hipsters, reduced to huddling in doorways and begging on the streets for indie music mixtapes and organic foodstuffs.

And so I propose the creation of Order of Buffalo sweat wristbands for the sake of hipsters, not only in Buffalo, but worldwide in a selfless effort to complete their wardrobes.  Except for this guy–he’s good.

So in closing, I’d like to quote a great man in saying “that the point is, gentlemen, that sweat wristbands, for lack of a better word, are good.  Wristbands are right, wristbands work.  Wristbands clarify, cut through and capture the essence of the evolutionary spirit.  Wristbands, in all its forms; wristbands for life, for money, for love, for knowledge have marked the upward surge of mankind.  And wristbands, you mark my words, will not only save hipsters, but that other malfunctioning culture called the Buffalonian spirit.  Thank you very much.”

In short, wristbands.. fuck yeah.


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