Take a Break from Swift Boats to Think About Mouth-Watering Dead Animals

Since I, like Pandagon, am tired of Swift Boats, and will leave that dead horse to be beaten by the likes of Joe Scarborough. Instead, I shift my gaze to Farm Accident Digest, where a serious, issues-oriented discussion is taking form. Today's topic: Hamburgers.

FAD has a list of favorite hamburgers, a topic of great interest given that 2004 is the anniversary of the hamburger in its modern incarnation. (Incarnation meaning, literally, "made into meat," so I'm linguistically aligned here.) He includes on his list In-and-Out Burger, a southern California favorite but not, in reality, even the best fast-food burger in L.A. County. That honor goes, instead, to Fatburger, a local chain that gets extra points for just coming out and admitting it. Calling a hamburger "Fatburger" is like naming a brand of cigarettes "Cancer Cluster." While it is, indeed, lots of fun to take the In-and-Out Burger bumper stickers and clip off the "B" and the "r" to create an "In-and-Out urge" bumper sticker, it lacks the self-destructive decadence of going into one of the seemingly millions of Fatburger storefronts in L.A. and demanding a Double Fat with Cheese. Can't you just hear your arteries hardening?

All of which reminds me that I have my own nominee for favorite hamburger:

The Hackneyburger, born of humble beginings in the Chicago area:

At that time their garage was extended to accommodate a four-stool bar and a little office and liquor-inventory room, as well as a very small kitchen in the back with a four-burner plate. There the Hackneyburger was born, cooked in ten-inch black iron frying pans and served on Aunt Bebe's own dark rye, which she had learned to make as a child while cooking for her family after her mother died.

There are now a half-dozen Hackney's in and around Chicago. Their decor is right out of the 1950s, reminiscent of places where steak-and-potato businessmen shared three martini lunches with their willowy secretaries. The Lake Zurich location features actual taxidermy, to make you feel all the more manly.

Despite the justifiable fame of the Hackneyburger, Hackney's real eat-this-and-die freak-show grease-fest champion is onion rings. The manufacturing technique works like this: Lightly batter a whole mess of sliced onions and then cram them down into a deep fryer basket. Literally, stuff them down into the baske until it can't hold any more. Then deep fry the rings until they're mahogony brown, just this side of burned. Invert the basket and dump the rectangular mass of onion rings onto a plate. Use a forklift to serve.

OK, I'm kidding about the forklift, but we're tlaking about five pounds of rings here. A full order is the size and shape of a shoebox and will feed a family of four for a week. If you stockpile the leftovers you can use them to build that new patio you've always dreamed of.

Honorable Mention: The Shackburger, at (you've probably already guessed this) The Shack, in Playa Del Rey, California. Hard by LAX, the Shack looks like what you'd get if you called down to props and said, "I need to shoot a scene in a surfer bar in twenty minutes." The picture of The Shack in this website shows yuppies standing at the bar in ties. My wife and I frequented The Shack for ten years back in our L.A. days and I never once saw anyone there in a tie.

Here's a review of The Shack that calls it "Hamburger Heaven." It also has a good picture of The Shack's exterior.

The Shackburger is a mutant hybrid, and thus not technically eligible for consideration in a "Best Hamburger" competition. It was a hamburger, yes, but atop the burger was a sliced, grilled hot dog. The effect was too tall to eat without making a huge mess, which was the whole point. Guys in ties don't like food that gets all over everything. Me? I never minded at all.

Comments

[larry]

I'm going to have to try out this Hackney's.