Okay, hear me out. I was going to review the burger at Melrose Umbrella Co., and in fact it was my sole intention when I walked through the doors, but instead I got drunk and very self-conscious that the bartender was being too nice to me. She laughed at my jokes, complimented my drink choices, it was sexually-charged madness.
Was it because she wanted a nice tip? Fat chance.
Was it because she is a nice and caring person and was interested in pleasant conversation? Yeah right.
Was it because I had two manhattans and I inexplicably felt desirable at a time when I was eating a cheeseburger and staring at my phone? Obviously. Obviously this is the only correct answer.
Now, I would love to tell you about this burger; but instead I was constantly worried that our conversation was so effortless that she was falling deeply in love with me despite my constant asking about what time happy hour prices end. During my third drink, when she brought a water that I hadn’t even asked for, I knew that I was playing fast and loose with this poor woman’s heart, even though I had a shirt on that was a little too small and I kept picking at my beard because I spilled so much manhattan in it. She was powerless against my oozing, ever-present sensuality.
In short, I got a little too drunk on a weekday afternoon and convinced myself that I was not only putting out the vibe, but putting it out so hard that women were falling all over themselves to hit on me as I ate a burger that was just god damn covered in seeds.
Yes! Now I remember! The burger had a million seeds on the bun. Like, so many seeds that you would think it was a seedburger, or possibly that the owner of Melrose Umbrella Co. also owned a warehouse that exclusively manufactures those weird bird feed blocks that are stuck together that last the entire winter for your hungry blue jays and warblers.
Maybe they were overstocked, so he said “just shave a shit ton of those seeds onto the buns, no one will notice because our clientele will be drunk AND drunk with the type of power you get when you actually believe someone could possibly want to have sex with you.” And you know what, he got me.
So I guess if I’m being honest, aside from my panicked glances to my wedding ring and four manhattans (I stayed a while), the burger wasn’t that good because it was a never-ending orgy of seeds. And while a lot can be argued about what makes a good burger, I don’t think anyone is really going to bat for a TON of sesame.
And if you are going to bat for that, you should definitely shut the fuck up.
All in all, I give the burger a 4/10.
But more importantly, I give myself permission to feel cute as hell every now and then.