The fetishization of hamburgers that has swept New York City over the past few years has been embarrassing and disturbing to witness. Embarrassing because New Yorkers, who literally possess endless gastronomic opportunities, have turned eating like a 12-year-old on the Fourth of July into a lifestyle. Disturbing because the ethical and actual stench of eating a cheeseburger is not easily expunged. Hours after committing the violent act you can still smell it on your hands, your face, your breath.
At least, those are my reasons for avoiding the burger boom—that, and the older you get, the harder they are to shake off. I'm too washed to eat a hamburger for lunch and stay awake afterwards, too vain to embrace middle age and start taking statins.
And yet, a place literally called Hamburger America got me in its greasy, crispy embrace last week, when I read about their special burger of the month: The Cheesy Western, sold by Texas Tavern, in Roanoke, Virginia.