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arts and culture
Bar none, the best hamburger in New York
DANIEL STYLER
Staff Writer
It started with a joke. On our way to
Washington Square Park, struck by the
startlingly warm – especially for November – air, we saw a falafel stand. I turned
to my friend Daniel and remarked to him
with complete sincerity – sorry, artif icial
sincerity, I was completely lying – that
it was the best falafel in town. It was
probably no more the best falafel in town
than the hot dog stand at St. George and
Bloor produces Toronto’s f inest hot dog.
It probably tasted the same as every other
falafel in the city; all falafel-related street
vendors probably get their falafel products from exactly the same central location and probably make strikingly similar
if not exactly the same falafels. That was
the joke.
But the joke evolved. Soon, the four
of us – the two Daniels, Paul, and Pat
– were f inding clever ways to describe
everything as the best something in the
City. Some salon called Tommy Guns –
you’re welcome for the free advertising,
Tommy – on Ludlow Street? It’s the best
haircut a 20 -something law student can
get on the Lower East Side. The M train
from the Delancey Street – Essex Street
station? Bar none, it is the f inest and
most reliable train you can catch in the
City.
The next day, we took a scenic walk
across the Williamsburg Bridge – I won’t
try to joke about this being the best
bridge in New York, because it’s probably the shittiest – on our way to a quiet,
responsible night in Brooklyn. We needed
to stay hydrated for the walk, though, so
we entered a 7-11 at the foot of the bridge
to stock up. As we entered the 7-11,
though, we couldn’t help but notice the
glow. It was the glow of fast food heaven
– Burger King, located at the intersection
of Delancey and Essex, just steps from
7-11. We knew that we had found something that we could accurately describe as
the best something in the City. This was
no joke; not like that shitty falafel stand,
or Tommy Guns, or even the M Train.
This was the best hamburger in New
York City.
Two days later, we attended the
Museum of Modern Art. MoMA is great,
even for someone who doesn’t fully appreciate or understand art – there is something aesthetically overwhelming about
The Obiter Dicta
seeing a wall-sized Monet or that guy
with the mutilated ear’s interpretation
of a starry night. Seeing artistic masterpiece after artistic masterpiece made us
hungry for another type of masterpiece –
a gastronomical masterpiece.
There was talk of Dorsia or Gramercy
Tavern, but then it came to us: Burger
King. Feeling the same way Einstein must
have felt after he finalized the formula for
mass-energy equivalence, we made like
Usain Bolt and sprinted to the aforementioned glowing Delancey-Essex location.
When we entered its hallowed halls,
the aroma was overwhelming, an intoxicating mix of childhood obesity and fries.
I won’t try to spin the service as particularly good, as Daniel waited for his meal
for close to 25 minutes, giving the rest of
us time to f inish most of our meals. What
was interesting about this long wait was
that he ordered a fairly common menu
item – a cheeseburger with bacon, or
something similar – and people who had
ordered similarly popular items well after
him had received their order within minutes. I blame his typical Canadian passivity for the fact that he received neither an
explanation nor an apology for the wait.
One Foursquare review of the restaurant
states that “Whenever Grim Death comes
to end me, I hope to God that it will take
me faster than these people take a food
order.” This, I admit, is also a hope of
mine.
The food, though, was alarmingly
good. The hamburgers were charred
beyond recognition, the toppings sparse,
and the onion rings as circular as deepfried onions can be (they were more oval
than circular, really). There was no discernable atmosphere in the restaurant,
but the screams of one particularly upset
customer (the poor lady was hoping that
Whoppers were still “ buy one, get one
free” but they were not) was music to my
ears. And the hamburgers were the premium, super unleaded fuel we needed for
our f inal night on the town.
Our Reading Week trip was a success,
and memories were made that are sure to
stand the test of time. But not all memories are created equal, and the memory
that stands out the most to me is the one
comprised of good friends, ice cold Coke
Zero, and the best hamburger in New
York City – the moment when joke and
reality intersected in a manner that no
one could possibly have anticipated just
days earlier.
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Monday, November 18, 2013