There it goes, another gherkin lost, one I would have so happily enjoyed in this calamity of a burger. The pickle, you see, would have brought a necessary slap of vinegar to the fat of the beef and the cream of the cheese. But here we are toiling with an impenetrable dish, one toppling Pisa-like in a tsunami of synthetic sauce.
We’re dining in a faux diner, a craft IPA on the right, pots of “kimchi mayo” scattered about the place, tackling something too tall in form, near insurmountable in girth. Mouths really must be able to open normally when enjoying lunch. Clearly the management here haven’t got the memo: don’t they know smash burgers are in? That is to say, thin, holdable and simple by design; burgers as they are meant to be.
