In the summer I love few things better than a fat burger from grass-fed beef, lovingly grilled over blistering hot coals to a wonderfully carcinogenic char, revealing a carnal medium-rare interior, served on a soft but substantial homemade bun with few or no fixin's. Like this one. Or Ryan's signature off-the-hook concoction of beef mixed with lots of diced red onion, good blue cheese, garlic and a hefty dose of black pepper.
But sometimes you find yourself wasted.
At 3am. Biking down Blaisdell Ave, about to cross Lake St.
Yes, friends and family, you know what that means: I paid a visit to The Castle. Yes, the white one. Ryan and I are both to blame for this, er, lapse in reason. We were truly enraptured by the sweet but deadly siren song known only as The Drunk Hunger. But you know what, those bacon double cheeseburgers (two each!) were preposterously good, perched there on the dirty Lake St curb while drunkenly dissecting the highly dubious merit of the term "steam-grilled." I don't know what heinous, biohazardous mojo they put in those damn things, but by god were they good at the time!!