[Update (5/11/07): Not that anyone thinks I'm dead, but I just want you to know that I WILL update soon! I don't like to leave my site stagnant for so long, it's just that this week has been kind of busy. I must have four entries worth of material to write. Or two really long entries. Anyhoo, please stay tuned.]
No matter how many burgers I eat, the top spot is still taken by the shack of the shake. And by that I mean The Shake Shack, the hamburger stand that everyone loves to hate, or loves to love, or happily queues in front of for 45 minutes for the honor of eating their easily snarf-able lightly griddled bun-hugged beef patties. Why all this madness? Why?
Because. These burgers are bits of heaven reincarnated on our pitiful hate-filled earth as divine combinations of proteins, fats, and carbohydrates. And by that I mean I have no freakin' clue if it's nutritionally balanced in any way (I think it's safe to say that it's not), but it tastes awesome. And that's all that matters when you're mad at the world and want to get away from it all without numbing yourself with alcohol or illegal substances that enter the body through injection or snorting. (Just so you know, I am very much alcohol and drug-free. All I need to worry myself with are the fat globules constantly floating through my blood and tissues! Yes!)
How could a simple lettuce leaf and slice of tomato look so perfect? So fresh? So pristine? As though they were dabbed with morning dew? Were they touched by angels? YES. ANNGEEELLLLS. And the yellow processed cheese substance, flowing into the bumpy crevices of the meat, gripping onto the slightly charred surface like a baby to its mother, or a face-hugging alien to a...face? DELICIOUUSSSS. And the slightly pink meat, mild juiciness held in by a thin meat coagulated crust, bursting with the tongue-tingling flavor of sodium and cattle? I LOOOVEE YEWWWW.
And the fries aren't bad either.
The custard, in this case coconut chocolate chip, was also good. It came out of the shack strangely melted, but I overlooked this small problem because it wasn't like I had a choice. I'd prefer that it be more frozen to give it, you know, the more solid quality that separates ice cream and custards from being milkshakes, but it was creamy and dense enough for me to forgive that it really was just an ice cream-y dessert mid-transformation into a milkshake. Which is why you should probably just get a milkshake, something that Shake Shake makes very well.
Get a burger. Get a shake. Be overcome with the tastiness and surge in body fat percentage. I wouldn't advice waiting 45 minutes to get a taste of Shake Shack (15 minutes perhaps, for I am very lazy), but when it's good it's really good. ...Or rather, if you've eaten a bunch of mediocre burgers in the past, it's really good. I haven't eaten there enough times to have it when it's bad. Or to know if it's bad.
Ahhhh, Shake Shack...
And this is where I talk about other stuff
Lombardi's has been on my "to eat" list for a long time. I have no good reason for not having eaten there earlier, considering that I've passed it innumerable times on my walks between NYU and my former Financial District-located dorm. I'm just lazy. Yeah. Surely you figured that out by now.
So when Nick suggested that we eat out somewhere involving thin rounds of dough topped with smashed tomatoes and plops of mozzarella (I think this thing...it is called a "pizza"), I commanded that we go to Lombardi's. Then I wouldn't be alone in saying, "Mm, this pizza is awesome", or "Mm, this pizza...it sucks." I hoped for the former.
The two of us comfortable split a 8-slice large pie, half white and half regular with pancetta and garlic. Is it alarming that I don't find my consumption of four slices at all alarming? I really didn't. Why did I eat that much pizza? Because it was really awesome. Duh.
Update (5/26): I only just realized that I must've fucked up this entry and accidentally cut off a large chunk of it during a later edit. I don't have an older version of this entry, so guess it unceremoniously ends here. SORRY. UM.