(I have to preface this post with something you know already. My camera sucks. It takes beautiful pictures in outdoor lighting, but its photos of indoor, low-light spaces (the lighting of 80% of the meals I have and want to share with you) that require flash, are heinous. So I attempt these photos without the flash and get orange- blurry orange. It’s a Nikkon SS something something- if you’re in the market, avoid it. And please bare with me until it breaks --or I break it-- and buying a new one can be justified.)
I’ve shared many meals with my friend Erin; brunches, lunches, shi-shi dinners, and 4am snacks at San Loco, but we recently shared what I might say was my favorite all-time meal with Erin: Burgers, and Beer. Why a favorite? Well, the company, the setting, the burger, the beer, but most of all: because Erin enjoyed this meal as much as I did. (A runner up is an early Sunday dinner we had, where we attacked two generous Eggplant Parmagiana entrees and after realizing just what we'd done, took solace in Erin's sage words: the day that the lord rests, so do we).
How often are you at a restaurant where the person (or people) you’re with are as wholly satisfied as you are? For me this isn’t a frequent occurrence, but when it happens, one of these just-right meals is better than 100 good ones. Spitzer’s corner delivered this one. It was awesome, perfect, but dangerously close to not happening:
I’d just returned from Boston, taken the train, went home, changed, and met Erin at Spitzer’s, my choice originally, at 9:30. The wait was 45 minutes. “Eff-No” I thought. I was as I always am having not eaten for 9 hours: starving. “Please can we go somewhere else, I said. Pllllease!” We walked to I’noteca across the street- 2 hour wait. Up and down Rivington and everywhere we came to paled in comparison to Spitzer’s for Erin, she was smitten. “Come on- you can wait. We’ll get a drink while the time passes- 45 is no time,” she said. Bullshit, I thought. “I will have withered away completely by then.”
You’re shocked, I know, but I actually didn’t wither away. I didn’t put up such a fight about going somewhere else- I’d read good things about Spitzer’s, and the picnic tables, low hanging industrial lights, and dark wood walls were appealing. This, and the fact that at 9:30 on a Friday night, even Hot Dog stands have a wait. So, we got a drink, went back 45 minutes later, and were seated immediately by a hostess who Erin swears was on America’s Next Top Model. I picked up the food menu, Erin, the beer menu. She’s Irish, you see; they like beer almost more than food, and she was captivated by this list: it was regional, featuring beers -plural!- from New Hampshire, the state she’s from, and so insanely proud of.
She picked her beer almost immediately; I picked one too after contemplating choices like a grilled cheese sandwich, a short-rib burger, and grilled chicken from the dinner menu. There were about seven entrees, all of the comfort food genre. Aside from the three above, there was a pulled pork belly sandwich, a steak and a couple of other options. For Erin and I, it came down to the Chicken, or the Burger. Without discussing it, I know that for Erin, like me, these options represented what she really wanted, and the sensible option that she thought she should have.
Almost simultaneously, we looked up from the menu after trying to contrive more excitement for the chicken, and said: “THE BURGER.”
The waitress came with our beers and took our orders. We cheersed, sipped, and from Erin’s mouth came a resounding “Beeee-yoooo-tifullll!” Her beer was lovely- I, not usually a fan of dark beers, could second her praise. I’m one for a hefeweizen (my original spelling was “Heffaveisen,” but Google, with it’s usual diplomacy, asked: “did you mean heveweizen?” I guess you have to know how to say it properly to spell it properly- I'm glad I checkd) and this one, from Maine, was great.
The wait for our food was on the longer side for just burgers, but I have to claim some responsibility for that: I ordered mine well done, committing what I know is a capital offense to most meat eaters. I just have this weird, very engrained icki-ness about burgers- I can tolerate some pink in a steak, but it just freaks me out in ground beef, don’t ask me why. What I have to admit though, is that the second these burgers were put before us, top bun off to the side to provide an un-obstructed view of the beautiful glazed-looking burger topped with melting blue cheese, two things became very clear:
1. We absolutely made the right choice of entrees:
2. I would regret my well-done prescription.
Wanting to respect and savor each bite of this burger, I went at it open-faced with a fork and knife. Sometimes I find that too much bread (even good bread) lightens the impact of a good burger, and that night I would have none of that. This burger was absolutely INCREDIBLE- easily one of the top-5 burgers I’ve ever had. The meat was tender and juicy despite being well-done, leaving me to wonder (almost with every bite) how much better it would be if I just ordered it medium-well. As great as it was, in the juicy and tenderness departments, I could imagine that a medium-well done burger would be even better.
The hickory sauce that I expected would come on the burger like a condiment was actually used in the grilling. It seeped into the depths of this burger, and caramelized on the top so that every morsel of ground beef was packed with this smoky, peppery, but sweet flavor. The blue cheese added a wonderful sharpness, and the butter lettuce and Gus’s pickle were refreshing compliments to the high-intensity meat and cheese.
The fries were good too, not special in any way; just good.
I caught Erin savoring a bite in an almost entranced reflective state; such is the power of the Spitzer’s Corner Hickory Short-Rib burger.
