More Burgers of Shame: Stand

So this past Friday, still grumbling over my sub-par experience at BRGR, I decided to try to cleanse my palate by trying another burger joint I had heard recommended, Stand on 24 East 12th Street in Manhattan. I was a little worried, as the aforementioned Michael Kane had ALSO recommended this place, but as he had also named a number of decent places, I just figured I'd ignore all his burger observations, both good and bad.

As my roommate and I arrived, the stylish minimalist black sign positioned high above the entrance on the second floor of the building screamed dollar signs at me. The two story tall room, the black and white theme and the scruffy, disinterested hipster maître d' just inside the door reiterated the impending bill, and a quick glance at the menu confirmed it. However, as my dinner companion reminded me, it would all be okay if the burger was good.

So we ordered. It arrived. And it was... lame. Admittedly, the flavor of the burger was decent, but it was by no means a taste explosion, and the thing just felt small, despite their claims of being a 7 oz burger. Way over priced (plain burger with nothing is $9; my bacon cheeseburger was $11), fries were good but sold separately and the pathetically mediocre, SIX DOLLAR milkshake came in an 8 oz glass. WTF? I don't know who they were trying to fool with the 3 inches of whipped cream on top either.

Ordered my burger rare; it came medium. Not even medium rare, just frakking medium. No real surprise, as it took 20 minutes for them to drop the burger... of COURSE it was going to be over cooked. The "bacon" consisted of two paper thin discs about an inch and a quarter in diameter and they only offered 2 types of cheese; American and bleu. Orders came with "hard boiled egg mayonnaise," a thoroughly forgettable concoction.

Had to ask for lettuce, tomato and onion separately. No ketchup or condiments on the tables; we had to get up ourselves and scavenge them from other tables.

The bill for 2 bacon cheeseburgers, 1 order of fries and 2 milk shakes came to... and this is the frakking kicker... $42.27. NOT including tip.

Wasn't all bad, of course. As I said, the fries were actually good, and they had some interesting flavors of shakes (blueberry, pumpkin, toasted marshmallow, etc...), though that particular plus gets canceled out due to the fact that it's basically a shot glass of milkshake. And they kept our water glasses full. That's something. The meat was good quality (shame they overcooked it) - free range, though not organic, according to the manager. And they toasted the bun well - always a nice touch.

I've read a number of rave reviews of this place. I haven't the faintest idea where some people get their ideas of what makes a good burger. You can't taste decor, people!

Just a disappointing burger week last week. Gonna go buy some beef and try Gordon Ramsey's recipe from Kitchen Nightmares and see if I can't salvage this ground meat shipwreck.

Burgers of Shame: BRGR

I'm something of a hamburger aficionado. Or a burger snob. However you slice it, I like hamburgers; I'm quick to praise the good ones, even faster to lambaste the crappy ones and the average offerings are forgotten more quickly than the promises of an alcoholic on her third drink.

Which brings us to this evening. I'd had a very, very long day and a friend was coming over to do a quick cameo in my latest sketch video and I promised to feed her. I'd normally cook, but I was beat, so after a little brainstorming on where to eat I suddenly remembered that there was a BRGR hamburger joint on 7th Avenue near my place that I had never tried.

Now, I had avoided this place on purpose. It screamed hipster trash, in it's decor, pathetic portions, pricing... even it's fonts. It featured a 1/3 pound burger, which is, coincidentally, the exact weight of mediocrity. Their basic burger was SEVEN dollars, AND they sold their fries separately - red flags galore. I had my burger oven set to pre-hate this place.

Yet here was an opportunity to finally give it a chance, so in we went. Got myself the BRGR burger - basic cheese, onions lettuce, tomato, pickle and BRGR sauce. Rare, as all burgers should be. With a side of sweet potato fries ($2.75) and a black and white milkshake ($5.50). My friend also got a basic burger and lemonade. Total came to nearly $30. For TWO people! Eating HAMBURGERS.

Must... stay... calm...

Flavor of the Burger: Meh. Slightly too greasy. Huge bun, pathetic vegetables and cheese melted onto the bottom bun... wtf is that? You might as well put the cheese under the table. You can't taste the damn cheese unless it's on top of the meat. That's burgers 101. Amateurs. The beef patty itself was a thin, rather mealy patty that reminded me of the consistency of frozen pre-made hamburgers, despite it's supposedly organic, freshly-made construction. I mean look at that thing; that's a burger that's just given up on itself.

After I took a few bites of the burger, I took a sip of what appeared to be about a 16-oz milkshake - seemed a little small for my taste. I was all ready to hate on it as well for it's rather hefty price-tag, but when it hit my lips I was forced to admit that it's a really, really good milkshake. Pretty much worth the money.

The fries, on the other hand, were crispy, but for being sweet potato fries, rather flavorless. They needed some sort of seasoning, and the sea salt on the table wasn't doing it. They should consider having a version with a bit of cayenne or garlic.

The real giveaway about the burgers though? At the counter next to our table was a mother and her 3 or 4 year old girl. Angelic little slip of a thing, blond curls falling around pink cheeks. She was peering back over her chair at us and I smiled at her, then suddenly realized she was in the process of FINISHING her burger. When a 3-year old girl can finish your hamburger without so much as a fuss, you FAIL. COMPLETE LOSS!

Michael Kane of the New York Post has named BRGR burgers one of the Best Burgers in Town, ranking it BETTER than Burger Joint in the Parker Meridian, and on the same level as P.J. Clarke's and frakkin' Peter Luger's burgers.

Note to self: Michael Kane of the New York Post is a moron.

Your Band's New Album

Here's a game I'm borrowing from a thread that borrowed it from someone's blog. Follow the instructions below to create the name of your fake band's new fake album!

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random The first article title on the page is the name of your band. 2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3 The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album. 3. http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/ The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

Here's mine:


Make your own and post it in my comments!

Perfect Way to End the Day? Chink Jokes!

So I've been temping at this ad agency and today, as I was wrapping things up so that I could leave, I overhear a conversation in the office right in front of my desk. It's one of the people I work with and a visiting consultant talking about their personal lives. Typical stuff... dating, job, Facebook, and so forth.

Then one of them begins talking about a friend or paramour of hers and I hear her say, "Well he does racial humor, which I don't like... but he's funny!" This makes me sort of chuckle and shake my head a bit, but I ignore it and continue getting ready to leave. But then I hear her start talking about how her friend was sending out "chink" jokes, but it wasn't bad because they were "funny." She then begins talking in a funny Asian voice.

Now, they know I'm sitting right outside the office. They walked right by me. The visitor even introduced herself to me. Yet there she is, pronouncing the name "Rick," "Lick." Repeatedly.

Anyway, there's nothing better than ending your day at your underpaid day job by listening to a room of white people making chink jokes. Just grand.

Random Art in the Dark

Shuffling my way through Fort Greene last night, I decided to cut through a park to reach my destination. As I trod the winding paths, I saw a small, glowing shack in the distance with a paper bag candle path leading up to it from the walkway.


Naturally I stopped and went up to it. The "paper bags" were plastic and electric, and the shack was made of plywood and Plexiglas, with two rows of benches inside with headphones hanging from the ceiling like airplane oxygen masks. Moving images were being projected on the inside of the shack. The field in front of the shack was lit up with a single bright spotlight stretching out elliptically across the grass and various trees were similarly illuminated. The whole kit and caboodle was being powered by a gas generator, encased in it's own plywood cozy off to the side aways.


Two young folk, bundled up, walked up to me and I asked them if the installation was open. Turns out this was part of a dance performance that would start out a nearby funeral parlor and then make it's way over shortly thereafter. They told me that, while there wouldn't be room for me inside to listen to the sound track on the headphones or enjoy the space heater, I could at least see the movement in the park space.


I came back later in the night and waited, and sure enough a small group of people came up over the hill, led by a cowboy pulling a rickshaw with two lucky audience members inside. He paused for a moment, ruminated over a letter from his sister, and then sprinted he and his passengers up to the shack path. The audience filed inside, put on their headphones, and the cowboy picked up the spotlight and shined it onto a hillside, where the dancers were crouched.


Then began... I don't know what. Without the spoken word and music soundtrack, it was difficult to follow what exactly the movements of the male and female dancer symbolized, packs on their back, red lanterns in their hands.


Realizing the show was going to go on for an hour or more longer, I left after about 20 minutes. Just a taste of the lovely random art that springs up in this grand city of ours.

I'm glad I saw it. I mean, I can watch the episode of Lost I missed online tonight, right?

Gary Gygax ran out of Hit Points.

Gary Gygax, co-inventor of Dungeons & Dragons, the fantasy-based role-playing game, died today at age 69.

And while today is a day for D&D puns and jokes to run amok (see title of this post), it's also quite sad, as the man had far-reaching influences, not just in his industry, but in other areas of imagination; film, tv, literature, video games and so forth. And there's a nostalgia for the game that is shared by many, many people.

I'm not a huge player of role playing games these days, even though many of my friends are and one of my roommates is even a very successful RPG designer himself.

But as a kid, I spent countless hours flipping through pages of the various D&D books; the Monster Manual, Dungeon Master's Guide, Players Handbook and Deities and Demigods kept me company on many of the long, summer vacation road trips with my mother. Not even playing with anyone else, I amused myself just building characters, rolling out battles with various monsters, collecting random treasure off the treasure tables... all sitting on the floor of the backseat of my mom's station wagon as we headed to whatever camp ground or farm was on the agenda for that summer.

I don't play today, but Gygax's work was a steady companion for an only child on long stretches of highway.

So rest in peace, Gary. May the Gods of Greyhawk tremble at your approach.

Birthday mornings.

Why do my birthday mornings never start out with me waking up in the arms of two or more nubile beauties in a post-coital haze?

There's something a little depressing about waking up on your birthday alone. Even more so the anticipation of it; knowing, as you're riding the train back home at midnight, that nothing awaits you but cold sheets and an empty bed.

Sure it might just be a scheduling snafu - people get busy, people have other commitments. They'll be with you later in the day, in the Russian baths in the afternoon, or at your poker party that evening.

But that first moment when you wake up and the first thought in your mind is instant self-reflection and assessment of the state of your life. And in that summing up of your life, to have a cypher in the column where there should be a warm body is, just a little bit, sad. That twinge in the back of your throat sadness. It passes as consciousness fully inhabits you, as your limbs stretch away it recedes in the distance, but still... it's there.

And you've missed another chance at a perfect Birthday morning.

Such is life.