Killer Burger

This fucking town.

I get it – the bums won out here. You’ve got to pay transit and arts taxes. Everybody’s got a vegan dish on the menu. Downtown smells like patchouli and urine. Your white-bread, bougious existence is threatened. All you can cling to now is charred mammal flesh – a talisman against the onrushing hoards of Birkenstock armored hippies and be-avacadoed and mustache-waxed hipsters. Hiding on the outskirts of town, you eek out a dismal existence, scampering from one safe-house to the next, desperate to maintain some shred of your grandparents America in the face of the Millennial gestapo. You’ll finally pick a hill to die on – a place to stand and fight: burgers.

Sweet jelly-roll Jesus, can you simmer down with your fucking hamburgers?

Killer Burger, Dave’s Agro-Burger, Dick’s Primal Burger, Super Dave’s SuperAgro-Burger. They’re burgers, kids. Let’s slow our roll a little.

Admittedly, it was a pretty good burger.

I went with a Fun Guy – I’m a sucker for puns and mushrooms and mushroom-based puns.  It was everything I wanted in a burger – greasy, cheesy, and an umami bomb. I also appreciate that they didn’t try to insert a salad into the relationship. Lettuce and tomato have a place in my world, but it not on the Friday before Christmas. Professional Fat Kid

Their house sauce is interesting. I didn’t like it, but I ate a bit of burger, drank a little beer (their house red – a little weak on both flavor and body, but probably what I needed since there was a non-zero probability of having to be a responsible adult), had some more and eventually decided it was pretty good. It’s heavy on the browner spices – cumin and the like – so YMMV. Mine did.

My dining companion had a similar experience with his normal burger – storing an extra layer of blubber before he returned to the tundras of his homeland.

I’d probably take my dad here, but not tell my mom. Get you some.