Blah. Rainy Sunday. You're at Regal Cinemas and don't want to head for the usual list of suspects. Books & Books? Nah -- had it for lunch already. Segafredo? Not so cool in the rain. Nexxt? Too touristy. Maybe Nespresso? There's something about that place that makes me feel like people go just to waste money. All those disposable capsules, overpriced beverages, and expensive machines are pretty, but...
Ah! Burger & Beer Joint! After a quick assessment, we decided we were dressed appropriately in our T-shirts, shorts, and sneakers, so off we went. We found parking lickety-split and were seated within seconds. Our server brought our iced teas without delay. I started to warm up just from all the heat coming off the bodies swarming inside.
Every time I come to this place, it's filled with all types: silver-hairs, bachelors, bikers, families, jocks, and even girly-girls scoping for beefcake. Just to my right was a couple that seemed so distant from each other, yet they were nearly nose-to-nose at the table. He, a musclebound-tattooed-juicehead type, appeared to have no problem shoveling fries into his mouth with his hands, but he felt the need to constantly bend over to drink soda through his straw without lifting the cup. She was dressed in tall platform wedges, supershort white shorts, a bustier, and shiny gold sunglasses. Forgoing all the menu's temptations, this glamazon gingerly nibbled on a salad and pretended to watch the game on television.
G-d help me if I ever end up in one of those relationships again, where I can't eat whatever the hell I want, there's no conversation worth having, and my date is too freaking Neanderthal to have manners, I thought to myself.
My date Matlock and I ordered the Thunder Road, and soon it arrived: 10 ounces of Angus, hickory-smoked bacon, and American cheese on a sesame bun so fluffy it would make Ronald McDonald feel impotent. We asked for the meat to be cooked medium-rare. It arrived medium-rare. We asked for the burger to be sliced in half. It arrived that way.
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I do have one qualm: The bourbon barbecue sauce was way too heavy on the bourbon and too light on the 'cue. The brick-red sauce was nearly soupy, rendering it difficult to spread and not terribly effective as a condiment. But that truly was my only issue. Even the skinny fries, which might have appeared "skinny" but certainly rank up there in the heart-clogging snack category, were delivered hot and perfectly seasoned.
Our food and even the bill arrived relatively quickly. Our conversation between bites flowed smoothly, as always, and soon we were back out on the wet roads heading to our respective homes with the sun at our backs. Hmm, great way to end the weekend, I thought. Maybe if Karen Carpenter had a burger on a rainy Sunday, her fate would've been altered.