GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #812: RANDY'S CHEESEBURGERS

The Jim Lahey Show and Randy

 

If you follow me on social media, you know I did a rewatch of Trailer Park Boys. It turns out I missed a couple of movies the first time, and there's a new series. I finished it all, but that new series is exclusive to Swearnet. If you don't know, the boys created their own streaming network so they didn't have to be constrained by someone else's rules. For just two bucks a month you get access to everything.

So I finished what they had of TPB: Jail Shorts and moved on to other stuff. You all know I have an affinity for Mr. Lahey, as he and I were both thrall to the Liquor and its extremes. So I was happy to discover The Jim Lahey Show and Randy, a late night show with booze, cursing, alcoholic blowouts and other lunacies, weed and Randy's cheeseburger recipes.

Like, for example, Cheeseburger Pancakes. Yes, you read that right.

I'm a lot like Randy, too. When I'm at home I rarely wear a shirt, and I fuckin' love cheeseburgers. But I gotta get something off my chest. Randy doesn't know how to make a cheeseburger.

Randy is one of those assholes who puts the cheese UNDER THE PATTY. I'm a burger purist, and nothing should go under the meat. Everything should go up on top. Putting anything UNDER the meat changes the whole taste dynamic.

I think only cheese, ketchup and mustard should go on a burger. Some fast food places have decent onions and pickles, and I can live with that. I ordinarily hate bacon on a burger, but I've discovered that for some strange unfathomable reason the Bacon McDouble is great.

I'm never going to give anyone shit for putting tomatoes or lettuce on their burgers, but I would never put them on my burger. To me that's crazy talk. You can't let supposedly healthy food get in the way of a good burger.

And yes, if you were wondering I absolutely hate it when food touches food. Food must be pure and eaten separately from other food. And no, I won't just take the tomato and lettuce off the burger. THAT SHIT HAS INFECTED THE BURGER. It's of no use to me now.

And yes (again) I am a little OCD. Maybe more than that. I used to be a lot worse. I wouldn't exactly say I was Adrian Monk, but I was pretty bad.

*sigh* Maybe I'm being harsh on ol' Randers. I guess if it makes him happy, he should do it. I just hate to see good cheeseburgers go to waste like that.

And don't get me started on those damned kids on my lawn!

THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #25: CHEESEBURGER REVIEWS

[I love cheeseburgers. Always have, always will. I have had many cheeseburgers in many places in this country and in Ireland. But my findings in this review stand to this day. The Country House still makes thegreatest cheeseburger in the land. Maybe they’re not $7.50 anymore. It’s more like ten bucks, but it is still worth every penny. I’ve been down to Tennessee and Georgia, where oddly enough they can’t cook anything lower than medium well. I thought the south was supposed to have great burgers. Oh yeah, and Ireland had awful burgers everywhere I went. Apparently they have to cook meat to a crisp due to Mad Cow disease. Also, they use shredded cheese instead of sliced cheese. When they present it to you, it looks like a cat puked on hockey puck. Too bad. The Irish will never know what a good burger is supposed to taste like. This appeared in the Elmhurst College Leader on April 24, 2000.]

It’s so hard to find a good cheeseburger these days, especially since restaurants are concerned with being sued by customers who got food poisoning because of unseared meat. Fear not—there are still places that serve a cheeseburger like it was meant to be served (ie. medium rare; bloody burgers are too slimy, and well-done is too dried out).

First of all, Denny’s is not one of these places. Sure, they’re open 24 hours, which is a godsend for those drawn to the night by either desire or necessity. Yes, some of the food is edible, like the mozzarella sticks. However, the burger is dry and crispy. Meat was meant to be tender and juicy. If the cheeseburger crunches in your mouth, it’s a bad sign. Denny’s will not cook the meat to its proper state. Not only that, but they put too many sesame seeds on their bun, which is just wrong. However, the waiters can take a lot of crap, which is a very good quality to exploit. They’ll do anything but have the cook make your cheeseburger medium-rare.

D’s Diggety Dogs Diner, 2121 Butterfield Rd., Oak Brook, has a better cheeseburger, but not by much. They don’t cook a burger to the desire of the customer, and the burger itself is wafer thin served on a cold bun. Imagine eating a McDonald’s cheeseburger without the grease, and this is what D’s burgers taste like. Unlike Denny’s, D’s has an excuse. D’s is a hot dog place, not a cheeseburger place. Their hot dogs are great, just stay away from the burgers. Besides, they have fish tanks to keep you entertained, and you can always try to figure out whether or not those marlins on the walls are real.

Ye Olde Town Inn, 18 W. Busse Ave., Mt. Prospect, is much better. Not only is there a live band at night with pool tables in the back, complete with pictures of the Mexican War moments on the walls, the cooks aren’t afraid of medium-rare. Unfortunately, their idea of medium-rare is closer to medium-well. The meat isn’t tender enough, and the bun is too hard. The burger’s good, just not good enough. However, they give you popcorn for free. Maybe it’s not the greatest popcorn in the world, but it’s free, and you’re college students. You don’t need a math professor to help you figure this one out.

Where Ye Old Town Inn fails, the Silverado Grill, 447 Spring Rd., succeeds. On the walls are rifles and spurs and, of course, a picture of the Duke in Rooster Cogburn get-up (what Western oriented place would be complete without the Duke?). They serve their mozzarella sticks with barbeque sauce. Most importantly, they’ve got an extremely rare sense of medium-rare. The animal’s heart stopped beating a few minutes before they brought out the burger on a plate. It was literally bleeding its juices all over the place, saturating everything in sight, including the already grease-softened fries. It’s so messy they serve it with a gourmet bun, so the bread won’t fall apart. The only problem with the burger is that only the inside is tender and juicy. The outside is a bit rough and flaky. Thus, the Silverado has to take second place.

The greatest cheeseburger in the world comes from the Country House, 241 W. 55^th St., Clarendon Hills. Biting into the Country House cheeseburger is like taking a bite out of Heaven. Juices fill the mouth, and the meat is tender, all on a bun crisped just right. With the perfect fries on the side, it is a meal fit for the gods. Thankfully, you don’t have to end up getting your liver cut out by an eagle every day to get it—$7.50 for a cheeseburger may seem like a bit much, but it’s worth every penny for the ideal cheeseburger.

What, then, is the ideal cheeseburger? Medium-rare. American cheese. A bun, lightly crisped. Nothing on it but mustard and ketchup. With fries. You might ask, what qualifies John Bruni to give such criteria? I’m on the Leader staff, am I not? You can trust us—we’re professionals. If that isn’t enough, I’ve been all over this great country of ours, and I have had my share of cheeseburgers. Some places in Arizona make great cheeseburgers, but why go to Arizona when the greatest cheeseburger in the world is made in Clarendon Hills at the Country House?

Elmhurst College students, why settle for a burger from a typical fast food place? If money is a problem, stop making obscene phone calls and start stealing cars. This is Elmhurst, land of the expensive car. The land is rife with rich people to steal from. Reach for your piece of Heaven. Eat the Country House cheeseburger.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #205: MY GOOD DEED FOR THE DAY PT. 2

Remember a while ago when I did a good deed and it felt great? You can read about it here. It feels pretty good doing good deeds. It's kind of addictive because of the dopamine release you get in your head when you see positive results. It's kind of like when you see that your Facebook post got 100 likes. Or maybe President Obama responds to your Tweet. And so on.


A couple of weeks ago I found myself in a position to do another good deed. But it started out from a horrible thing I did.


Not last Saturday, but the Saturday before I went to Skippy's for a burger. They've got a great burger, even though it's only a charburger. Anyway, I could have sworn they were open until ten on the weekends. I arrived at the drive thru and made my order. Only then did I see the sign that says they close at nine on every night except Sunday (8 pm). I looked at the clock. It was 8:59 pm.


Oh fuck. I just became *that* guy. You should never EVER show up to a restaurant at literally the last minute and order something that takes more than a minute to prepare. It takes them five minutes to make a burger. Oh goddam, I felt like such a heel. If I'd seen that sign before making the order I would have gone somewhere else. I could only imagine the cook cursing my name--if they knew my name, that is.


I paid at the window, and I felt like an utter asshole. Then I awkwardly sat in my car, waiting, feeling like shit.


Out of the corner of my eye I saw a skunk starting to pick around a car parked behind the building. Something scared it, and it backed away with its tail in the air. I thought for a moment it was going to spray, and I was in the direct line. I did not like the idea of my car smelling like skunk. I can control skunks, but I can only use simple commands. They might not listen to me if I said more than STOP. And GO AWAY. I wrote a Goodnight, Fuckers about it near the beginning of the run, but I can't find it, and I'm too lazy to dig that deep. If you have a better discipline, check it out. It's there somewhere.


The skunk came back to the car and poked around more. It pawed the wheels. It sniffed around the back. And then I saw it go under the car. Whoever owned this car obviously worked at the restaurant, due to the parking place. I was horrified at the idea that the owner would come out after their shift, not knowing there was a skunk under their car. I kept seeing them getting squirted and spending the next few days trying to get away from the stench.


The guy at the drive thru gave me my burger. I asked him, "Do you know who owns that car?"


"Uh, yeah, I know who owns it." He said it nervously, like maybe he thought someone had damaged it. Or maybe someone was going to sue the owner. I felt I had to immediately allay his fears.


"I just saw a skunk go under the car. I'd appreciate it if you'd warn whoever owns it so they don't get sprayed tonight." Imagine working at your shitty day job, and when you're finally ready to go home to some relaxation you get sprayed by a skunk. It's ugly, man. UGLY.


He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key fob. He pressed a button, and the car turned on. It took me a moment to realize that he was the owner. I said, "Oh! Uh, in that case, be careful, man."


"Hopefully the sound of the car drove it off. Thanks, man. I appreciate it. Can I get you a drink? We have Pepsi products."


I already had my drink, but I thanked him anyway.


"You really saved me, man. Thanks for warning me."


No problem. I drove off kind of giddy from doing the right thing. It felt amazing. It felt so good that I was halfway home before I realized that this thing had started with an asshole move on my part.


I vaguely believe that the universe balances out. I don't think there's a force behind that, or a god, or whatever. But I do think that for every shitty thing you do, you do a good thing, even if it's an accident.


I do a lot more good deeds than I mention, but that one felt the best. I felt like I made up for driving the cook a little crazy with my last minute burger. (The cook was, after all, the guy I saved from a spraying. He wasn't just the guy at the drive thru window.)


Do good deeds. It feels really fucking good. You'll see.