Is That What I Think It Is?

On my last day of Spring Break (it was really my Easter Vacation day, but whatever), I decided to get some lunch. I had seen the Bar & Grill for awhile, but hadn't been by. But it looked like a decent-enough place, clean, plastic lines. You know, a Bar in a Box.

So I paid my taxes and spent money I didn't have on lunch. I ordered a burger and a Coke, took out my grading, and got to work. The burger came. I noticed the anaemic bun and the lack of mayo (grr!), but I was hungry so I started eating.



Wait a minute... does this burger taste like... a burger?

I opened up the lid to take a closer look at the patty. Check this out.



Yes, those are irregular edges you see on that patty. Do you know what irregular edges mean? It means someone's hands touched the burger. I know this connection between people and our food is supposed to gross us out. People do bad things, right? But the thing is, food tastes a whole lot worse (and carries just as much nasty buggies) when it only touches machines. We are far too disconnected from our food.

This burger was a hand-formed patty! No wonder it tasted like a burger and not a warm piece of cardboard. Mayo or no mayo, this is the best burger I've had since I left Durham. (Wimpy's Grill -- I've said it before and I'll say it again. Nothing beats a burger made from freshly ground beef. Nothing. Floofy buns or no floofy buns.) Sure, the man forgot the mayo. But he kept on foisting Coke on me (I do love my soda, too, especially while grading), didn't call me pet names, and wasn't overwhelmingly chipper and annoying. The fries were good, too. They weren't anything special, but they were hot, crispy, and lightly coated with a not-too-annoying seasoning.

This is how good the burger was.



And, they are a BAR & Grill, which means they shouldn't close at annoying times on me, like at 3pm on a Sunday. Yay bars!

I Hate My Town

This could as easily be titled "I Miss Portland". I know, more whining from the Queen of the Whine. Is it any wonder I love cheese?

Anyhow, I am sitting in a coffee shop in Santa Cruz that I picked randomly off the Web. It could almost me Portland in here. The space is open and bright, with exposed beams, local art on the wall, and the sort of hanging chalkboard menus that are typical of McMenamins. They have self-serve drip decaf (which trumps even P-town), and the best sandwich I have had the pleasure of buying in quite some time. You can't get a good sandwich in my flour-tortilla town to save your life.

The sandwich is a simple veggie sandwich, if you can call toasted (yes, toasted!) sourdough with mayo, mustard, and hummus, romaine lettuce, red onion, tomato, avacado, cucumber, and Swiss and cheddar cheese "simple". The only thing that could improve this sandwich would be some melty--although then it would get greasy and lose that fresh, hippie, earth-lover, naturalist vibe. So maybe, I'd use a cheese spread instead--I could see this as a pimento cheese type thing. But I'm merely suggesting a little gilding on the lily here.

More about running when I'm not abusing my iPhone.

Bizarrely Constructed Burger

I am trying to fit in my community. I am trying to make some lemonade over here. So, I have been occassionally eating at some local establishments. One town favorite is Great Awakenings. There is a location in Salinas and another on Monterey. I went to Monterey with a friend, and it was pretty good, so I've been giving the Salinas location a whirl. There are some disappointments.

First, the potatoes. Call me crazy, but I think a potato should be cooked through with no crunchy at all. Potatoes are not like green vegetables or noodles which should by all rights be cooked al dente. No, potatoes should be soft the whole way through. Obviously, the cook at Greak Awakenings does not agree with me. For the second time today, my home fries were underdone. I suspect that they do boil them first, but in an effort to keep them from falling apart, they undercook them. But then they don't cook them enough on the griddle to actually finish the cooking process, leaving you with a slightly crunchy, unsatisfying potato. If it happens again, I'm complaining.

Second, the burger was bizarrely constructed. The most obvious defect was that it came to me cut in half. Now, I know a lot of people prefer to eat their burgers cut in half. That's fine. It's not the way I prefer to eat mine, however. And while anyone can cut a burger in half when it is sitting whole on his or her plate, it is impossible to glue a burger back together once it's been cut. So strike number one is the cutting of the burger. Leave the integrity of the patty alone.

Second, who melts cheese on a piece of tomato. I mean really. The lettuce and tomato are cold, and should maintain that coldness. You do not try to melt cheese on the tomato. This is not a grilled cheese with tomato, this is a burger. The burger is the hot item, it is onto this round piece of food that the cheese should be melted. Oh, sure, there was cheese melted on the underside, but not on top. What?

Let's pause for a moment and consider the entire structure of the burger. It began with a soft, floofy bun. I suspect there was some potato starch in the bun. It was not quite sturdy enough for a full burger, but whatever. That was grilled with some butter. Next came a melted layer of cheese and the actual burger patty. On top of the patty was mayo. Wha? Hu? The mayo does not go on the burger. It goes on the bread -- which does not need butter because it is getting mayo. Then there was a layer of iceburg letter (ooh, fancy). Then, tomato. Then the cheese. Yeah -- warm tomato and cold cheese. Joy. Then the top of the bun. Notice what is missing? That's right, the onion. The onion that I specifically said I DID want. So right there we have strikes two and three.

For the record, a cheeseburger should be constructed in the following mannter. Bun, dry toasted. Burger, preferably a hand-formed patty made freshly ground meat. Then, melty cheese. Jack, cheddar, swiss, or provalone all work, as does blue cheese. Then onion. The onion should nestle into the cheese and provide a piquant bite to the mellow cheese. Then bacon (if required). Then tomato -- garden ripe. Then lettuce -- green leaf acceptable, but romaine is better able to stand up to the temperatures and juices of said burger. Red leaf and mesclun are really too thin to be ideal. Finally, a nice spread of mayo on the top bun, which again has been dry-toated. Now *that* is a burger.

Oh, and my waiter kept on calling me "Sweetie". Don't get me wrong, I do not mind the pet names. Eight years in the South, and I am down with a Honey and Sugar and Shug. However, I have not been a "Sweetie" in I don't know how long -- especially from a pimply 20-something man who is obviously younger than I am. (At least it was obvious to me.) He also had taken a page out of Office Space; and was right there with the 27 pieces of flair. I do not remember the character's name, but he's the "good" waiter at the restaurant. He was chipper and friendly (but forgot the onion on the burger) and had a long conversation with himself (considering the task) of getting me more water. And he called me "Sweetie." Weird.

I might still hit them up for breakfast again, but lunch is sadly lacking.

Food, Glorious Food

I have been happily eating my way through Portland. Breakfast has been high on my list, but there have been a couple of notable exceptions. To sum up my culinary delights.

On the first day back, I went to Toast (SE Steele and 52nd) for the pork belly. Oh, dear Lord, it is heaven in a slice of pork. This is nothing that could be described as "bacon". It makes me look back with even greater fondness on the Iron Chef Pork Belly Battle. I think I would have enjoyed that so much more if I had had some pork belly. Anyway, it's a thick-ol slice of, well, pork belly. Imagine a strip of pork roast surrounded on two sides by a strip of warm fat. Sounds gross if you aren't fond of things like homemade cracklins. If, however, you find fried chicken skin to be the best thing on the planet, well then, this meat is for you. As you bite into a piece, the warm grease explodes through your mouth with such an intense pork flavor, everything else on the plate pales in comparison. Mind you, the rest of the plate is tasty too. Comes with a couple of fried eggs and a homemade potato rosti (think hashbrown, but better), loving sprinkled with chopped, fresh parsley and served over a small puddle of balsamic reduction. Oh, with a bloody mary on the side that comes with homemade pickles (you know, cauliflower, okra). If you are, or are ever, in Portland: GO TO TOAST.

It started snowing, so then I opted for a walk to the Screen Door for some Saturday morning brunch. Screen Door (24th and E. Burnside) has the best biscuits and gravy in town. However, I opted for the special fried chicken cathead biscuit. The biscuit (as big as a cat's head) is split and topped with a spicy fried chicken breast, topped with sausage gravy, and served with potatoes or grits. I went grits. But I was sharing, so we also had a hash that was good -- there was horseradish in it -- and a smoked salmon omelet. Yum.

Once the snow cleared, it was off to Genie's (SE 11th and Division) for the eggs benedict. I've tried about all the benedicts in town, and Genie's wins. The Hollandaise tastes like butter. Seriously. It is velvety smooth, with a subtle lemon twist and the aforementioned butter. Ahhh. I can hear my arteries clogging from here. I forgot about the West Coast's penchant for undercooking eggs, so there were a couple of runny spots in the white of my eggs, but I decided to deal. I hadn't specified that I wanted runny yolks, but solid whites to the waiter. The potatoes are kinda whatever, and I got the end of a basket so they were all small and extra crispy, but it didn't matter. It was all about the muffin, locally made Canadian bacon, egg, and that sauce.

There was also a trip to Cricket Cafe at SE 32nd and Belmont. I didn't get the cricket omelet, that is hangover or trucker fare (a four-egg omelet with bacon, tomato, onion, cheese and the hashbrowns on the INSIDE, all covered with sausage gravy). I did have a delish sausage burrito, though. Nice interplay of eggs, sausage, and black beans. Good homemade salsa on top. Hashbrowns were a little greasy, but you can't always have it all.

This morning, after explaing to my dear friend CK that there is a Kettleman Bagels on this side of town -- just a few blocks from her house at SE 11th and Sherman, I had the best bagel in Portland. It might be the best bagel I've ever eaten. Now, I haven't been to New York on a bagel hunt, so I won't say that it's the best ever. But in Portland, they pass off anything round as a bagel, even if it's just floofy white bread, so these bagels really hit the spot. I have long said that Brueggar's sets the standard for all bagels: anything less than Brueggar's is NOT a bagel. Kettleman shows up Brueggar's. (The owner learned the trade in NYC, so don't fear, these are NYC bagels.) The only thing left to say is that in my Cali town, it's possible to go to a bagel shop that does not serve veggie, onion, OR herb cream cheese. I think that's against the bagel laws (although I haven't checked). So a crunchy on the outside, chewey in the middle everything bagel smeared with green onion cream cheese that hasn't had the life whipped out of it was very, very welcome.

Of course, I've been inhaling Stumptown coffee like it was going out of style, as well as any sort of micro IPA I can get my hands on. HUB (Hopworks Urban Brewery at SE 28th and Powell) definitely is good beer. Look for it. It packs a whallop, though, so beware.

Also on the list were the fish 'n chips at the Horsebrass (at SE 47th and Belmont). Everyone in there was smoking like it was going out of style (probably because as of January 1st, it will be out of style -- and against the law) which is a downer. I don't believe that anyone who say that the smoke is "part of the charm" of the Horsebrass is telling the truth; that lie gets passed around just to make you feel better for going. No, the smokers might appreciate the chance to smoke, but no one patronizes the establishment just so they can leave reeking like an old-timer at the Eagles Lodge. They go for the fish 'n chips. Solid cod, battered and fried served over homemade chips. Comes with slaw or a salad for a $1 more. And not so many chips, either. It's about the fish and the salad, with the chips just to make you feel good, but leaden with grease. Solid ranch (with the salad, of course -- but enough left over for the chips), too. Of course, sometimes the fry cook is off. It was pretty packed, so my fish were slightly overdone; but poorly cooked fish at the Horsebrass is well-cooked anywhere else. The fish was still hot and juicy, just a tad tough.

Tonight, though. Oh tonight. Going to Yoko's (SE 28th and Gladstone). Taka's tuna and the Poki roll. I might have to forgo my usual plain tuna roll in light of all that tuna. Tuna tuna tuna. Mmmmm.... Tuna. Yoko's is my favoritest sushi restaurant, ever. I do love some Sushi Blue in Raleigh, free birthay sushi is always welcome, and Mio Sushi is to raw fish what Brueggar's is to bagels, but nothing beats Yoko's. I love the tiny room with it's eclectic decor. I love the food. I love that you can wait at the bar next door and would call over the bar when your table was ready, but now they just call your cell phone.

And after the tuna feast of last night, I just want to say, "Yum". CK and I skipped the plain tuna roll for a spicy tuna roll, and added to the feast with some veggie tempura. (There is very little in this world that I do NOT like deep-fried.) We were sated, but not stuffed. It was about perfect. And Yoko's was playing Barry White on the stereo. Oh, my God. CK and I made some sweet raw tuna love at the sushi bar. Between the unfiltered saki, the interplay of tuna, rice, avocado, green onion, and soy, the hot, crispy fried veggies, and the sultry music, we were in heaven. And having considered it all, I think that while the pork belly delivers an immediate and gratifying taste sensation, tuna does that, but more. The pork will slow you down and put you to sleep; the tuna wakes up your brain and makes you feel alive.

For my last feat, I'll be doing a little happy hour at the Nite Lite tonight. (I think it'll still be happy hour.) It's been a favorite haunt of mine, and it'll be very comfortable to go back and hang there for an hour or so before heading out to a quality house party.

Happy New Years everyone!

If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear to wear flowers in your hair

Finally made it up to SF yesterday. I only spent the day, so I certainly haven't done it up "right", but it was good to find my way there. The first time is always the hardest. Now I know how to get to downtown at least, even if I never knew where I was again after that.

I met up with an old friend from Chapel Hill. Reconnected on Facebook and he happened to be in town visiting friends, so we took a day. We had brunch at Luna Park on something and 18th (the old crack hood all gentrified) then drove around looking for his hotel then went down to the Ferry Building. We had an app at a wine bar and then ferried over to Sausolito. My, was that nice. It was late -- later than I had hoped seeing as I had to teach today -- but it was worth it. The sun was setting behind the Golden Gate Bridge as we chugged across the Bay. And the weather is unseasonably warm (to say the least) with clear blue skies. Just gorgeous. Had some clam chowder (still too much starch, not fully cooked potatoes, but not too salty and good clam heft to it) and a Crab Louis salad. Not too bad. Then back home.

It's a 2 hour drive, which is kinda annoying, but not impossible. I do need to go back and spend more time. But I need to plan it when I *have* the more time to spend. Maybe a long weekend or if Shells really comes to visit for spring break.

I'd make this a better-written post, but I'm too tired and cranky (meetings!) to do much more than a mind-dump. I've shared; I'm alive; I'm not just sitting on the couch every evening.

Done.

I Thought of a Good Title

But then I forgot. Maybe, if it comes back to me, I'll fix it.

Today I decided I needed to get out of Dodge. So I packed up my thick-ass stack of papers to grade, citysearched a place to eat, and drove to Santa Cruz. Of course, I forgot to bring the sticky note that had the addresses on it (it's still sitting right here at my elbow), but I sorta remembered the cross street of the breakfast place I was looking for. So, being in a winging it frame of mind, I took off in what I though was the right direction and lo and behold -- I found it!

Well, for a place that is supposed to have long lines, there weren't any at 9:30 on Veterans's Day. Fine with me. I ordered a cup of decaf (have to) and Mike's Mess. Mike's Mess is a scramble of eggs, bacon, mushrooms, and homefries topped with cheese, sour cream, tomatoes, and scallions. Sounded delicious.

The coffee arrived -- bleugh. They have an old-skool coffee pot system, and this decaf had definitely been sitting on the burner too long. Invest in some air pots people!

But then breakfast came. Glorious breakfast. It's been awhile since I've had a good breakfast, and this qualified. The plate was covered with a pile of food and two good scoops of sour cream. The only complaint I have about the Mess is that the taters were overseasoned (aka: too much salt) and also contained tumeric. Don't get me wrong, tumeric belongs in many, many things, just not in breakfast potatoes. It's a trend I've noticed out here: a curried potatoes for breakfast habit; I don't buy it. (Well, obviously I do since I paid for my breakfast, but you get my drift.)

Now, on the side of the plate was a piece of bread sliced in half. White sourdough, to be exact. It was lovingly toasted and sandwiched between the halves was a scoop of butter (yes, butter). I spread the butter over the toast (with plenty left over in case I really wanted to destroy my arteries), and took a bite -- and landed in heaven. The bread was dense and tender at the same time. The bread wasn't too sour, which is more to my liking than the inverse (converse? contrapositive? who remembers their geometry?). I could eat that bread forever. I do love white bread. Yes, I do.

The menu also boasted some sourdough pancakes that looked delish, as well as the usual eggs and bacon fare. I will definitely need to go back.

And to add to my pleasure was the crowd of eaters. There was an undergrad couple next to me (it was early on in their dating life) and an older professor (or math teacher) across the way. I watched in fascination as he ate a decidedly snotty egg. It was so slippery he could barely get it on his fork and stay there. He was not a break-the-yolk kind of man. I was impressed and slightly grossed out when he finally got it in his mouth. I think that egg whites should be cooked all the way through, although the yolk is allowed to remain runny. All in all, good people watching.

Then I went and say on the pier and graded a few papers. It was good.

While Everyone Else is Crying Today ...

... I am celebrating.

Yes, because it is September 11. But not because of September 11, 2001. No, you see, on September 11, 2000, I was divorced. A full 365 before September 11 took on much of any significance for anyone (well, unless you care about Chilean politics and the assassination of Salvador Allende), the best day of my life occurred.

Eight years ago, I became legally free of the Asshole. Sure, it was partly my fault: I shouldn't have married him. I was impetuous. But mostly, the man was a jerk. (Keep that in mind, all those of you who find it hard to break up with your whatever. It's not that hard. You just do it. I got a lawyer. I fought for two years. I lost a house and money. I got in knock-down, drag-out fights. I had all my wedding pictures broken on my bed -- you try to sleep on a bed of broken glass. And it was still the best thing I did. And it was still not that hard. I haven't run a marathon, but I got a divorce.)

Not only was it my anniversary, but I also got paid today! For the first time a couple of months, I got a paycheck! And, since I've been working at this district since early August (yes, it's now mid September), a paycheck is a good thing. (It's amazing that schools think it's OK to start the school-year in August but not pay new teachers until the END of September. If I hadn't done my extra (stupid) five days of meetings, I wouldn't have gotten this paycheck at all.)

So, I went out to dinner. Mich reminded me of the brewpub in town. (How can I --I-- forget about a brewpub? Well, I don't get out much anymore.) So I went and bought the steak special. It had everything a girl could want: sauteed spinach, mashed potatoes, bacon-wrapped steak, onion rings. Mmmmm.... Onion rings.... gleuuuuuuu. (That's the sound drool makes, if you don't know.) And, they were out of the IPA *sob* so I had the Pale. Still not bad. The food had oo much salt, too much oil, and not enough pepper (of course, I think that about just about everything I eat). I'll even go so far to say the potatoes had too much garlic -- I believe mashed potatoes should always retain some potato flavor, not be a mere vehicle for aromatics. But the onion rings (which should be salty and fatty) were almost perfect. I could have eaten an entire basket, and not just the handful on the plate (which I could do anyway, even with the bad ones). They were thin-cut, like the shoestring fries of the onion ring world, but with a well-seasoned, flaky batter. Not stupid, thick batter. They tasted like onion. (To be perfect, they would not be shoe-string, they'd be fat.)

And I chatted with the folks at the bar. Man, can I pick up an old man, or what? (Not to take home, ewww.) But me and old men? We can have some conversations. These particular barmates were supportive of my career. It's fun to toss out the teacher-card, you know?

As if this evening weren't enough. When I got home, there was a note from UPS. They'd left me a package. Me? A package? From whom? Why? Mr. Maybe sent me a present! It's now my favorite t-shirt: English doesn't borrow from other languages. English follows other languages down dark alley, knocks them over and goes through their pockets for loose grammar. It's hanging on my chair so I can look at it and giggle.

Sorry this blog is a bit parenthetical. I blame the beer.

(P.S. Why are divorces so expensive?


-- scroll down for answer --















Because they're worth it!

Thanks to Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me: The NPR News Quiz for the joke.)

What Did I Get For My Troubes? A Case of the Clams

I had to go to Trader Joe's, and in this town, that means a trip to Monterey. Since it was a lovely afternoon, I decided I might as well do what normal adults do and have dinner as well. This town doesn't have a slew of dining options, so going to Monterey is my big chance for dinner-time treats.

I did a cursory online search and decided I'd hit up the Fisherman's Wharf for some seafood. What the hey? I grew up in tourist trap, I know what's what. And I also know that you can find some good chowdah in a tourist trap.

So I trip-trapped, trip-trapped across the bridge to see what goodies I could find. All the restaurants along the wharf (picture Kennebunk Port -- complete with Saxony Imports -- but jammed onto one pier) had out samples of their chowder. "Yee-haw!" I thought to myself, "Now I'll know which chowder is good."

The answer is none of them.

I don't know what it is about the West Coast, but you can not find good chowder out here. Maybe I haven't found that one perfect place yet, but I've been to Seattle, Seaside and Cannon Beach and Pacific City and Portland, Oregon, and now California, and the chowder is crap.

Let me explain. The best chowder in the word is found at a place called Chowderheads in Scarborough, Maine. It's a small place, tucked off the side of a strip mall along Route 1. It's a random place to find such good chowder, but good it is. I guess it's technically a fish chowder, but it's creamy and succulent with a rich, seafood flavor with a colorful, and tasty, dash of paprika across the top. I've also had good, brothy, creamy chowder at the Clam Shack in Kennebunk -- but I haven't been there since the Jacques let it go. In short, chowder should be milky -- creamy, not thick and starchy. It should not taste like flour and potato starch. It should taste like seafood, cream, fresh potatoes, and pepper. It should not be thick. It should be a soup, not a gravy.

The chowders at the Fisherman's Wharf were all starch. The first one tasted like a bag of flour. Ugh. The second one tasted like a bag of flour mixed with clam broth. (Very clammy, although I didn't see any clams.) The third one (which passed for edible) was still thick, but there was a hint of cream and some visible clam chunks. It was alright. Alright in a sort of a limited way for an off night.

I guess I just have to make my own. I make a mean clam chowder. And I've got to get back to Scarborough. Chowderheads is closed on Sundays so I missed it the last time I was in town.

Near the In and Out Burger

Hello. My name is Caroline. I’m 32 years old, and until today, I had never eaten at an In and Out Burger.

I was at a teacher workshop, and when my compatriots, partners-in-crime as it were, heard that I had never had “In and Out” (as they call it), then our choice for lunch was immediately decided.

I have, of course, heard of In and Out Burger. Jeffrey Steingarten mentions it in his food columns for Vogue Magazine (collected in the two stellar novels The Man Who Ate Everything and It Must’ve Been Something I Ate), as do the Cohen brothers in their cinemagraphic classic The Big Lebowski. The restaurant also gets a rather sizeable shout-out in the critical Fast Food Nation as an example of a fast food chain that manages to churn out inexpensive food without completely destroying the lives of the people who eat the food or serve the food. I’d need an actual working Internet connection to find the exact geographic locations of the In and Out Burgers, but I do know that they are scattered across southern California.

Salinas (on the edge of Norther California) does boast an In and Out Burger, so that’s where I ate lunch today. For a whopping $6.00 and some change, I got a cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, onion (which you must request separately), and a very thousand-island-esque sauce, a large "small fry", and a chocolate shake. After about an 8 minute wait (it was noon and the place was packed), my food arrived. Your number is called out and the food comes delivered on a little red try with high, slightly sloping sides. The food tucks in nicely on the try. There is no excess space to get in the way or take up room on the table. It’s more like a bowl or a plate than a tray.

The first thing I noticed about the actual burger is that while the size of the entire setup is pretty good, the actual burger is tiny. It is dwarfed by the vegetables on the bun. Now, I’m a big fan of the vegetable, but I do love a good, juicy burger. “Juicy” is not what I would use to describe the very fast-food shaped burger on my red tray. This is no small problem, because what I love about burgers is the interplay between the savory, meaty, slightly greasy, and juicy burger with the soft, toasty bun, the drippy cheese, tangy onion, sweet tomato, crunchy lettuce, and creamy mayo. Each ingredient has a critical part to play in the creation of the cheeseburger experience. The whole is certainly greater than the sum of the parts.

So, the burger’s a little lame. Of course, I only paid a couple of bucks for it, and with rising gas prices, can you be surprised that the burger is small? No. Which doesn’t make it any less disappointing. A lot about the current state of the world leaves me disappointed.

The fries were pretty good. I got a nice paper bin of shoestring fries. They tasted mostly like potatoes and were hot and not overly crispy in a super-saturated with oil kind of way. After a restrained sprinkle with salt and pepper (my preferred method), I dipped them in catsup (or more likely ketchup) from the pump bottle near the beverage station. Good.

All the while I was trying to suck on my shake. It was a difficult process. It was, hands down, the best chocolate shake I have had at a fast-food joint in a long time. It was so thick, I practically imploded the straw trying to drink it. I had to set the shake down and wait for it to melt a little bit on top, just so I could have some. It had a nice chocolate taste, too. And none of that plastic taste you get from a Frostie. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t an extra-thick chocolate/chocolate frappe from Shane’s of Maine — but then again, I haven’t found a shake that good since. (For those of you who don’t know, a frappe is a shake in Maine. Shane’s of Maine is a really good ice cream company — their ice cream puts Ben & Jerry’s to shame. An extra-thick frappe has three scoops of ice cream blended in the shake, and then an extra scoop of ice cream floating in the mix. And chocolate/chocolate refers to chocolate ice cream with chocolate syrup.) In high school, I worked in a tourist trap that was across the courtyard from a Shane’s. It was heaven.

Would I go back to an In and Out Burger? Certainly. Was it the best fast-food cheeseburger I’ve ever had? Probably so. Was it the best burger ever? No. But then again, I’m still searching for the best burger. Wimpy’s Grill in Durham, NC comes the closest (grinding your meat fresh every morning goes a LONG way with me). But has the experience forever changed my life? No. It’s a good fast food burger. It’s loaded with a salad’s worth of veggies. But in the end, you’re still eating an extra-small, fast-food burger patty.