The bar grease burger has been around forever, favored by those looking for a quick “fill me up,” with no concern for calories, fat, quantity and at times, even quality. It tastes great with a draft beer.
Living in the Midwest during high school, college and after graduation, there were ample opportunities at local taverns to sample the bar grease burger. Typically it is large, rough around the edges (not perfectly formed like you get in quaint little restaurants and fast food places). They slap it together, slam it on the griddle, cook it all the way through, give you some pickles, lettuce and tomato, and slide the ketchup and mustard down the bar to you.
As it sits on your plate, you can see the grease ooze out of the sides. You know the first bite will be spectacular, and you’ll be tempted to order a second.
My formative grease burger was when I started my reporting career in Washington, D.C. There was a dive joint two blocks from our office. About every other week, one of the three of us on our newsletter would say, “Ready for a grease burger?,” and the rest of us would join in for the walk, which made us feel slightly righteous.
At some point in our 10-year relationship, a bet was made and I won. The winner got to eat as many burgers as he wanted in one sitting. I won and ordered four. If memory served me correctly, you had to eat the fries, too. Since this was back in the dinosaur era, you could drink at lunch depending on your afternoon agenda, and I ordered several beers to wash down the carbos and beef. This was a magnificent decision, bordering on genius.
It was one of the few times the cook emerged from behind the bar. I remember him putting down the four dishes with a smirk, and my coworkers laughing at me and my audacious desire to expand my waistline. Somehow I survived the gluttony. All four were washed down with some Millers.
We waddled back to the office. I felt grease-laden, but content. Four thick bar grease burgers could be consumed by a 30-something without immediate bad side effects. That was proof of the bar grease burger’s inherent value. Given how good the fourth burger still tasted, it also forced its way onto the menu for the burger battle.
Do you love this one? Have you experienced it? Let me know.
Living in the Midwest during high school, college and after graduation, there were ample opportunities at local taverns to sample the bar grease burger. Typically it is large, rough around the edges (not perfectly formed like you get in quaint little restaurants and fast food places). They slap it together, slam it on the griddle, cook it all the way through, give you some pickles, lettuce and tomato, and slide the ketchup and mustard down the bar to you.
As it sits on your plate, you can see the grease ooze out of the sides. You know the first bite will be spectacular, and you’ll be tempted to order a second.
My formative grease burger was when I started my reporting career in Washington, D.C. There was a dive joint two blocks from our office. About every other week, one of the three of us on our newsletter would say, “Ready for a grease burger?,” and the rest of us would join in for the walk, which made us feel slightly righteous.
At some point in our 10-year relationship, a bet was made and I won. The winner got to eat as many burgers as he wanted in one sitting. I won and ordered four. If memory served me correctly, you had to eat the fries, too. Since this was back in the dinosaur era, you could drink at lunch depending on your afternoon agenda, and I ordered several beers to wash down the carbos and beef. This was a magnificent decision, bordering on genius.
It was one of the few times the cook emerged from behind the bar. I remember him putting down the four dishes with a smirk, and my coworkers laughing at me and my audacious desire to expand my waistline. Somehow I survived the gluttony. All four were washed down with some Millers.
We waddled back to the office. I felt grease-laden, but content. Four thick bar grease burgers could be consumed by a 30-something without immediate bad side effects. That was proof of the bar grease burger’s inherent value. Given how good the fourth burger still tasted, it also forced its way onto the menu for the burger battle.
Do you love this one? Have you experienced it? Let me know.
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