It was a twenty seven dollar burger. The bun was glazed with yellow cooking oil that coated my fingers as I picked it up from the tiny metal sheet pan it was served on. Two limp slices of lettuce were stuffed under the patty creating a slip’n slide of hot burger grease and cold salad water.
It was a twenty seven dollar burger. The pale grey and brown meat had the consistency of dry meatloaf. Salt and pepper may have been added to it during cooking but the steaming action from one too many patties so close together had washed all of it away. Hard sweaty cheddar cheese encased the top of it, when softer cheeses stand out in the realm of unprocessed cheese on burgers.
It was a twenty seven dollar burger. Quarter inch thick slices of onion and unripe tomato doubled the height of the sandwich. Both of which had plans to exit the burger upon first bite. The top bun was the only thing holding this all together, and that was only because it was forced to with a large toothpick. Wet with oil, the dome of the bun had been branded with the restaurant's AI generated cow head logo which added a delightfully scorched flavor to the whole experience.
It was a twenty seven dollar burger. The girl sitting across from us at the large picnic table was making an Instagram video of her food, waving her phone around it in wild directions, taking bites, then cutting to a giggling selfie of herself chewing with her hand over her mouth. She put her phone down and spit out the mealy mouthful into her napkin, making a meal of just the fries.
It was a twenty seven dollar burger. I should’ve just ordered fries.