Five Guys

Have you had one of these things yet? Jesus creeping shit, these folks sell the best burger I've ever tasted. One opened up half a block from where I work and I suspect they must put morphine in them because I've been there every day this week. Five Guys burgers are drippy and gooey and have enough grease to turn your aorta into a Crazy Straw, but man, are they tasty.

When you order a burger there you actually get two patties; you specifically have to indicate that you want a 'little' burger if you want only one. I always go for the cheeseburger, which has a La Brea tar pit of cheese slathered between the meat slabs. Then you get to pick your toppings which includes all the standard burger accessories but also gives you a choice of grilled mushrooms, A-1, grilled onions, hot sauce or whatever. No heat lamps here, each thing you order is cooked right then and there, which accounts for a slight delay in waiting time but oh good lordy it's worth it. They way I figure, it gives me time to stare at the overly-pale Emo dude behind the counter so it's a pretty even trade-off.

Five Guys' French fry situation is off the hook. If you order a regular size, they give you a small cup of fries but then act like total freaks and dump three times as much into your to-go bag on top of the rest of your order. You literally have to dig your way through French fries to get to the main course. These come in either the regular or Cajun spice variety. You could seriously make a meal of the damn fries, which is too bad because a 'regular' hamburger is more than enough to fill anyone up. To look at the hamburger wrapped in foil, no, but looks can be deceiving. The total onslaught of meat, meat, meat puts enough dead cow fat in your stomach to induce a near-psychedelic experience. In between clutching my belly and groaning I saw my deceased grandmother masturbating with a cattle prod and bitch-slapping Wendy.

They only offer burgers, fries and hot dogs. That's it. Today, I opted for the hot dog. It was like wrapping my mouth around God's main vein. Assuming it had been split in half, the pieces placed side by side on a bun and topped with onion, tomato, pickles and mustard. But hell, he's omnipotent; he can take it. Again, more food than I am incapable of ingesting so I spent the remainder of the work day moaning like I was in labor.

Here's a handy tip: At the drink station they have Minute Maid fake lemonade on tap but right next to it they have a caddy full of lemon wedges, presumably for the iced tea. Fill a cup with Minute maid, then grab a handful of lemon wedges and squeeze it into your drink, then plop the rest, peels and all, into the cup. It really sparks things up a notch. Granted, your hands will smell like you've been experimenting with urban legend contraceptive formulas, but it's worth it.

The stuff's a little pricey. But for the amount of food you get and the quality it's an outstanding value.

Okay, my new career as food critic for the New York Times is assured. Assuming that whole giving head to God thing isn't a stumbling block.