Burger Queen

I have a lump of burger in my belly. Why? Memorial Day at the in-laws.

The in-laws are wanna-be vegetarians. They will happily eat food with a face; they just don’t want to see the face. The face or the wings or legs or any body part that may remind them the animal walked or flew. Or had veins and a circulatory system or a liver. Or blood.

The in-laws’ fear of blood leads them to overcook everything.

This year my Mother in law bragged that she got her burgers so thick yet so well done by searing them on the stove, then baking them in the oven, and THEN grilling them. These burgers should be given to the starving Africans because they are not only filling, they are filling and slow to digest. Granted, it was perfectly well-done: an even burger-brown all the way through. So, really, it just wasn’t cooked to my taste. Her family was very pleased, which is a tall order since she has to balance thick (Ken) with brown (Karen). But the issue for me isn’t just the done-ness, it’s the dryness.

She’s a patter. People, don’t pat. Don’t pat when you shape it. Every pat takes some of the juiciness and transfers it to your hands. Don’t pat when you grill it. I know you want to know if it’s done. The juices are going to bubble up without you patting at it.

Granted, I didn’t make the Memorial Burgers, but if I had I would take the lump of ground beef, dump it straight from the styrofoam onto some plastic wrap, and roll it into a semi-log with as few passes as possible. Then I’d unwrap it and slice it into discs. Then I’d carefully plop the discs on the grill and not touch them until It has enough structural integrity to flip over. After one flip (one!) I’d wait and take it off the grill and let it rest ten minutes. And if it wasn’t done I’d toss it in the microwave and cook the rest longer.

You know what? I’m going to the store tomorrow and to get some ground beef and buns for burgers. It’s going to be a new Memorial Day tradition. I’m not revising the S______ potato salad, though, that was perfection.