In honor of the new Perry St burger, I'd like to share a poem completely dedicated to the classic American hamburger written by Perry St's very own Nick Curtin the cook.
I sing the Burger Electric
As the armies of moo consume me and I consume them,
They will not let me go until I admit defeat,
I see myself fall to the hordes of Red Meat, and yet continue to masticate, mixing flesh
Why am I so drawn to adorning the deceased with the Ketchup of the gods?
And if I do defile the dead so, what is to stop me from flinging mustard into the faces of
And if the Ketchup does not complete my Burger?
And if my Burger does not feel complete without the blessing of Heinz?
The love of the medium-rare vanquishes all, and the Burger vanquishes all,
That of the ground chuck is perfect, and that of the flaming grill is perfect.
That of the Burger is perfection, the taste not only appearing in the meat,
It is in the tomato, pickles and lettuce also,
It is in the golden fries which so decorate the wasteland outside the world of the Burger,
The strong juices which flow down the chins of the average consumer,
Leaving 4 out of 5 doctors wondering why America has such high cholesterol.
The 5th doctor kowtows to ground meat between appointments.
The fragrance which drifts slowly through cities, weaving its way through every house,
Wandering into the nostrils of the young, taunting the willpower of the old, and
Laughing at the middle-aged,
The Burger lies naked on the grill, as the fries dive headfirst into a lake of oil, seen as
They swim through the yellow, and roll about in the great vat, manned by a
High school drop-out, arms scarred from oil burns,
The heaves which echo from the fat man’s throat as his teeth penetrate the bun,
Sesame seeds dropping onto wax paper beneath his chin,
Teenagers, College students, the depressed, the lonely, the hungry,
The Cows let out a melodic moo, calling all from the streets into the small diners,
Meeting a guy named Vinnie who would love to make you a Burger,
Provided you enjoy your Burger with the physical properties of a charcoal briquette,
But you consume anyway, so that the mooing will cease,
The greatest of cow consumers are different people than the rest of the world, their saliva
Having been replaced long ago in exchange for milk,
Their loins growing hot at the sight of the girl behind the butcher’s counter, searching for
the Meat of choice,
The recipes were discarded long ago, replaced by experimentation and finally finesse,
Finding the perfect Burger,
The ground Filet, the salad herbs, gently placed on a Portuguese sweet roll, surrounded
By seared potato minions, determined to discover the secret of the beef,
Only to find, that to truly know means to meet a grisly end at the teeth of a connoisseur,
Martyrs in the name of potato,
As the Burger stands triumphant, knowing its place in society, the king of fast food,
The strangest of quality meals, it remains on its throne of bread, awaiting a beautiful end, promised to so few.
But we must not forget the other players in the masterpiece we know as Burger,
The grill, flames passionately licking the edges of the beef, conquering the evil of e-coli
To pave the way for charcoaled goodness,
The waitress, wearing a tight black number, balancing your meal delicately on her arm in
A true attempt to earn her tip,
The grill master, the bulk food supplier, the dishwasher, the farmer, his wife who insisted
They send some cows to the meat factory because she needed a new sewing machine,
All instrumental in composing the delicate orchestra which sends your taste buds into a
Dancing frenzy as the flavor crescendos with a burst of juice, never just piano,
Never just forte, the Burger is rife with dynamic,
But be warned, for the Burger is a delicate instrument,
I see it defiled by the hordes of pork and I am disgusted, for the beef is not to be touched
By the Piglets of pestilence, for the beef shall stand alone, and though the pork is
Good and tempting, resist the double Burger with bacon,
The devil’s meal, the conqueror of the cardiovascular challenged, two meats are not
Better than one.
O my Burger! I dare not leave you for the likes of healthier foods, though I know it must
One day be so.
Until then, O Burger, may you aid me as you have aided the others,
The lost, the hungry, the confused, the lonely, the desperate, the happy, the rich, the poor,
The lovers, the haters, the doers, the living, the dying,
May you bring them to the place which they seek, whether it be satisfaction of the
stomach and tongue, or Nirvana so they seat themselves next to Buddha and boast
of an enlightenment found through the simplest of animals, or just a place far
from our world of temptation and reality television,
O say these are not the flavors and smells of the Burger alone, but of a culmination of
Many lives, meeting at your plate to bring you happiness unmatched,
O say these are bliss in a beef package!