Why Are You Here?

Lunch

It’s a Saturday afternoon and there’s one thing wrong. The blinds are open, the sun is shining, and I feel energetic and efficient. It’s almost a perfect day, and it would be so if I weren’t a bit peckish. I enter the kitchen to find it sparkly clean. The counters are so clean I would eat a mess of spaghetti with mozzarella cheese right off of it. I set out to make the perfect burger. It’s something so simple, but at the end of the day, it satisfies everyone. No one’s ever not in the mood for a burger.

I take everything I’ll need out of the fridge. I grab three different cheeses; cheddar, white American, and a beautiful fresh mozzarella I bought at the farmer’s market. The ground beef is in a square that has a neatness that smashed animal flesh shouldn’t have, so I do something about it. I dump it in a mixing bowl and pile on the spices. Garlic powder, onion powder, salt and pepper, mustard powder, and cayenne pepper all conceal the beef in little piles. They remind me of the mounds of gravel at the construction site I drive by every day. I reach for the container of chili powder, but it’s as empty as my stomach won’t be as soon as I finish this burger. That’s fine, because I’m good at adapting to the situation, like an improv actor or a chef. I opt for a combination of cumin and paprika. The neat piles of gravel and the square of meat quickly become a pile of chaos as I force them to become one homogenous mixture. The relatively pale meat is stained a powerful red by the vibrant spices.

I proceed to the sink to rid my hands of the raw meat germs and then place a cast iron pan on a burner set to medium heat. I don’t add any oil or butter. I always like to cook beef in a pan that’s dry, like the Sahara desert or my aunt’s “famous” Thanksgiving turkey. As the pan comes to temperature, I prepare the veggies. The lettuce has such a pleasing sound as it’s torn. The best way I can describe it is the opposite of a smooth and low tone played on a concert tuba. The tomato is nice and juicy. Each slice that comes of the fruit lays on the cutting board, sadly bleeding its juices like someone who’s just lost very badly in fencing. The onion is a time bomb. As soon as it’s cut, the timer starts, and I have 60 seconds before the eye-stinging chemical explodes into my eyes.

The pan is now hot. Not hot compared to the sun, mind you, but hot compared to anything I could touch without blistering my finger. Certainly hot enough to make the burgers sizzle as they are gently placed in perfectly round patties onto the iron. The applause that is the sound of the burger cooking dies down, prompting me to gently prod at it with the spatula. It has stopped clinging to the pan. That’s its way of saying “I’m ready to let go. I’m ready to move on to the other side. Please flip me.” I slam the burger onto their other sides, re-igniting the applause. The flip reveals a beautiful, caramelized crust with droplets of fat signaling a juicy interior.

I suddenly realize I forgot to prepare the cheese, and time is running out before the burger becomes a hockey puck. In a panic, I scan the lineup of cheeses on the counter before me, and in this instant, the disease of indecision plagues me. For a reason unbeknownst to me, I snatch the mozzarella and clumsily tear it open. I place hectic blobs on top of the burgers and as the cheese smoothly melts, so does my stress. As soon as the cheese is blanketing the burgers, I retire them to a warm plate.

Now is when It all comes together. The toasted buns are treated with butter and slathered generously with mayonnaise and the spreadable gold that is dijon mustard. The buns are now bread wearing a tuxedo. I squarely place a piece of butter lettuce on the bottom bun, shielding the delicate layer of crispiness. Enter the centerpiece. The duo of powerfully spiced meat and effortlessly creamy melted cheese is rested luxuriously on the bed of lettuce. The lettuce, onion, and tomato serve both as decoration and as elements of flavor and texture that the burger would be disappointingly incomplete without.

With the addition of the top bun, the moment of truth has arrived. It is time to reveal the cross-section and taste the final product. I slowly drag a serrated knife through the hearty burger, careful to not disturb the masterfully constructed layers. As the two halves are pulled apart, I can tell the burger is juicy, but the perfect structure of the meat holds the moisture in. The layers are distinct, and all the elements are strong, helping the masterpiece stand tall and proud. Now I find out if my panicked choice was the right one. One bite and there is no question. The cheese effortlessly permeates through every ingredient without dominating. Each element comes through but allows the stars that are the meat and the cheese to shine. The bun is like a pillow, yet it is sturdy enough to support the other ingredients. The sharp bite of the onion is like a punch in the face that somehow feels incredible. I vacuum down the rest of the burger with no regrets glad to have another recipe to add to my repertoire.