GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #931: NOW I KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE GOD!

 

Earlier this evening, after more than a week of not eating solid food, I had a meal. A real meal. A cheeseburger, to be precise. After days and days of gnawing hunger I felt like God. For the first time in a long time I felt full instead of the somewhat warm feeling I get with "eating" broth.

Each bite of that cheeseburger was a snapshot in time. Shuffle them and watch it vanish. I nearly felt like filming me eating this thing, bite by sensuous bite, making orgasmic moans to anyone who cared to approach my car while I ate. I got mustard in my beard, but I had more important things to think about: getting this burger inside of me. My mouth felt like one big smear as I chomped down, able to identify each ingredient on its own in the mishmash of bolus in my mouth. The onions. The pickles. Oh my. OH MY.

I chewed every bit to sludge, and I sucked at every juice I found. I pressed the burger to the roof of my mouth to get every ounce of flavor out of it. Take a can of Coke and go back to the Dark Ages. Give that Coke to a peasant. Watch the sheer joy on that peasant's face. That's what I felt today in that McDonald's parking lot. Yes, it was a McDonald's burger, and it was ambrosia shipped direct from Mt. Olympus. By the time I'd swallowed the last of it and wiped my sodden face, I realized I now knew what a foodgasm feels like.

And it was fucking great.

I ate more later, and it was great, but it wasn't quite the same. All in all, I'm just glad that I can eat stuff again.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #799: RIP THE SILVERADO

 

Today I drove past the remains of probably the best place to get a burger in Elmhurst, the Silverado. They closed down a while ago, which saddens me because they made the best steak I've ever had, and I'm never going to have it again. I held out hope that someone else might take over, and I could once again sit at the table where Rooster Cogburn looks down at you.

Nope. They tore the building down. All that remains is a fenced in empty lot. I fucking swear to fuck, they'd better not put something stupid there, like yet another fitness center. Or another goddam learning center with a bullshit Italian name to make it sound fancy and scholarly. The one that irritates me the most is Montessori. It used to be called Raggedy Anne, and two of my cousins actually went there way back when. But then it turned out that the people running it were so racist they ended up on Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. Whoops! Guess it was time for a rebranding. Let's slap some Eye-talian name on there. Eye-talian names are synonymous with the Maf--er, I mean, Catholicism! Because never forget, THE MAFIA DOESN'T EXIST. Capice?

I am getting waaaaaaay off track here. I meant that the Silverado was very special to me, and I don't want its place to be sullied by another fucking microbrewery because HOLY FUCKING SHIT we don't have enough of those in Elmhurst. Or in the surrounding towns. Or fucking everywhere else. It would be great if it was another no-bullshit burger place. I shan't hold my breath, though.

It's getting harder and harder to find a good place to eat in Elmhurst. The Pizza Palace was another great place, and if you needed to drink an afternoon away, they had a very short bar there if you and a friend wanted to hang out and have a few Jamesons. I usually sat in the booth that had Josey Wales looking down at me. Seeing a pattern, here?

Beerhead was a pretty good place, but it vanished almost as quickly as it opened. Fitz's Spare Keys (or whatever they were calling it near the end; they changed names a few times) was good if you wanted watered down booze and overpriced shit, but it was good shit. They were shut down for selling booze to high school students.

There are a lot of places to eat in Elmhurst. They're all priced out the dickhole. And I won't go in them on principle. Just give me a goddam bar and grill, don't put on airs and call yourself a gastropub. Microbrewery is bad enough as it is. Do I really need to spend fifteen bucks on a cheeseburger? If that trend keeps happening, I'm going to have to make my change from Randy to Smokey and hit the streets, selling myself for cheeseburgers. Eight bucks is reasonable. Bring it to me medium-rare with nothing but cheese on it. No need to fancy it up. I'm not looking for a dining experience. I'm looking for an affordable good cheeseburger I don't have to drive far to get. But in Elmhurst? That's asking too fucking much.

All right, yeah. I got something stuck in my craw. I meant this to be a fond farewell to a kickass burger place, but instead all I've done is mourn for a lost world.

Holy shit, am I having a midlife crisis? Is that what's going on? I thought I'd gotten that out of the way when I was 20. (I figured I'd be dead by now, so I went into existential dread mode pretty early.)

OK. If this is a midlife crisis, I'm going to need your help. Do not, under any circumstances, let me buy an expensive take-me-back-to-my-youth car. Unless it's a Skyhawk. I can probably afford that, and it would be nice to have a car without any computer chips. Also, I'm pretty sure I don't have any interest in women half my age. I've always skewed for older, and now that I'm older, I look for same age. But if this is a midlife crisis, all bets are off. Don't let my other head do the talking for me. And if I start bitching about kids today and how kids when I was young had respect for their elders, please take me behind the barn and tell me I can tend the rabbits, George.

I'm going to miss the Silverado. It was a hell of a vision. Hell of a vision.

A NEW CHEESEBURGER COMES TO TOWN: A restaurant review of H.B. Jones

The southeast corner of York and Vallette in Elmhurst is the perfect place for a restaurant.  Not a fast food place, either; no, it has to be a casual dining place.  So many businesses have tried their luck at this location, most recently a greenhouse, but they’ve all met untimely demises.

Until now.  H.B. Jones has taken up residence, and it looks like they’re making money hand over fist.  Drive by the place at any given time of the day, and chances are good that the place is packed.  Parking is impossible.  It’s always lively there.

What’s the big deal?

First of all, it should be noted that the H.B. stands for Hamburger, and Jones comes from the phrase “jonesing for food.”  They advertise their place as a food adventure, offering all kinds of different culinary excursions for your enjoyment.  They don’t necessarily have a theme, but there seems to be a kinda-sorta ocean feel, what with the boat imagery and the hammerhead shark that hangs from the ceiling (complete with a burger in its mouth).  However, there are plenty of planes in evidence, as well.  It helps that they decided to use the greenhouse that the previous owners left behind.  It gives the illusion of being outside while the fans keep things from getting too hot.  It’s very spacious, offering the chance to stretch out and maybe move a bit.  As far as ambiance goes, H.B. Jones gets an A+.

But how is their burger?  This thing is huge.  Served on what seems like an old fashioned hubcap, it takes up a lot of space.  They use a nice thick hunk of cheese, and everything is complete with a side of seasoned fries.  It looks gorgeous.

It’s too bad that the taste doesn’t live up to the picture perfect display.  Not that it’s a bad burger.  It’s good, just short of great.  Perhaps if they used better meat or seasoning, they could be a force to be reckoned with.  They don’t have much of a feel for medium-rare, either.  They tend to overcook it a bit too much.  It’s definitely not worth the outrageous $11 they charge for it.

The fries are absolutely wonderful, though.  They are perfect.  Not only that, but they have a fine selection of beers and booze.  All in all, it’s the perfect place to hang out and have a few drinks.  Give it a try sometime.

H.B. Jones

551 E. Vallette St.

Elmhurst, IL 60126