By Tarun Chandy

The Perfect Burger 

It is now 10:35 pm on Sunday night and I have had quite a miserable week end. I woke up this morning at about 7 am to a FaceTime call from my recent ex girlfriend. Two days ago I promised myself I’d never speak to her again. So, naturally I picked up the phone without hesitation. We had an emotional conversation that lasted several hours, after which I sat in bed going through the regular stages of questioning my decision to break up with her in the first place. I then remembered I’d woken up at seven and figured I’d just go back to sleep so I could stop thinking about it.

When I woke up next, it was about twelve. I could feel the thoughts rushing back to the forefront of my mind and opted to get high, because it felt like a more long term solution than sleeping. I then had a nice shower, cranked up my Spotify playlist, opened a fresh bottle of Nutella and slowly felt all my cares melt away. This was my foolproof method for coping with anything life could throw at me.

When I started to think straight again, I began to wonder whether I had any adult responsibilities to take care of today. Was I planning on going to the gym? Probably not. Was I going to get groceries? That could wait till tomorrow. Then it dawned on me that I had a SCAB due. Which brought with it the age old question that has haunted writers for centuries. What the hell was I supposed to write about? I looked at a few recent ones for inspiration and felt mildly annoyed at myself. Everyone else seemed to be doing so much with their lives. Collecting dots. Having experiences. Getting out of bed. It then dawned on me that the only time I’d stepped out of the house this week end was to go buy a large fried chicken meal from a shop around the corner, and suddenly I felt pathetic.

I used to do a lot with my life. But lately, everything I could do just felt done, and there didn’t seem to be any point in doing things over again. Still, I had a SCAB to write and no leads on a potential subject. So, I figured, why not write about the only thing I had been doing; ceaselessly contemplating my break up and figuring out how to finally let go of something I’d held onto so tightly for so long. There’s a common misconception that writing about things you’re feeling is supposed to make you feel better. I wonder if that’s ever really worked for anyone. I however, wrote the entire SCAB, read it to myself and then deleted it all in utter disgust. There was no way I was sending that to anyone. It was now almost 8pm and I decided to make myself a burger.

When I got back, I felt relatively certain that the burger I’d just made was the best part of my week end. So, I figured it made as good a subject as any for my SCAB. So, for anyone who’s interested, here’s my recipe for the perfect burger.

You start by frying two strips of bacon. Take them off the flame and then caramelize some onions in the bacon grease. Add some Memphis sauce to the onions, to make it even better. Then cook two patties in the same pan, turning them over and placing a slice of mature cheddar on either one, to let the cheese melt as the other side cooks. Finally, spread some mayonnaise on a bun, and put the bacon, the onions and the two patties inside, adding some lettuce if you’re in a health conscious mood. This burger is more than just an accidental creation. I have observed fast food workers for decades, crafted at least twenty different prototypes and experimented with ingredients and variations for hours on end. This burger can be the perfect end to a depressing couple of days or just a pleasant meal in the course of a pleasant life. Do with it what you will.