A Hamburger Today
Grilled: Damon Gambuto
Editor's note: One of the first emails we received in response to our call for a Los Angeles correspondent was from Damon Gambuto with the subject, "My Burger Destiny." His credentials and enthusiasm proved that being AHT's designated Los Angeles burger eater was, indeed, part of his beef patty-filled destiny. Expect to read his first review later today and a new review every Wednesday.
Name: Damon Gambuto
Location: Los Angeles, CA
Occupation: writer, producer
How often do you eat burgers? Frequently to quite frequently.
Where did you eat your most recent one? Bill’s Burgers. It’s 44 years old and counting, but I needn’t go into details here because you’ll read my post about it later today. Right? Right.
Cheese: American, cheddar, other? Um, yes please. I really like cheese. I like it on burgers, on breads, in salads, with fruit and all by itself. Though I’ve grown up a bit and find myself ordering a cheese-less burger more than I did in my youth.
Ketchup or mustard? You know what? Ketchup. Deal with it. Ketchup is sweet and tangy and delicious on burgers. I’m tired of the backlash that rebukes ketchup. You know what else is tiresome? Not letting me have ketchup on my burger even if I have the fortitude to endure the ridicule that may come with asking for it. (I’m looking at you, upscale eatery, that thinks putting a burger on the menu is "playful," but won’t serve me ketchup.)
Preferred bun: Sesame seed, plain white, brioche, or other? Plain, white, shiny, buttered buns. (Fresh!)
Grilled, griddled, or broiled? I think you meant to write that griddled, grilled, broiled. That’s the proper order.
And how would you like that done, sir? Medium rare. Specifically 138 degrees, if you’re counting. Reddish-pink and slightly warm in the middle, if math isn’t your thing.
Would you do us the favor of describing your perfect burger? There are so many versions of perfect. When it comes down to it, I love them all. Roadside stands, fast food hockey pucks, tablecloth-burger-as-fine-dining slabs, even the chef-ified atrocities that insist on inviting lipid-engorged, waterfowl livers to the party. They all tease and tempt me. And, eventually, they all force my hand (and my hind quarters) into my car to travel far and wide in search of the old, the familiar, and (ever hopeful) the newest delicious iteration of the perfectly conceived sandwich.
The hamburger is a food item with which most Americans have strong childhood associations. Do you remember your earliest encounter with this delicious dish? As a boy, my father would take me to Corner Bistro every week for a burger, fries, and stories about him. It was the best thing I could imagine.
What's your favorite fast-food burger? I’ll go with the In-N-Out double-double, but don’t get your knickers in a twist if I tell you it’s a wee bit overrated.
What topping or condiment, in your opinion, should never grace a burger?Don’t listen to some putative expert tell you what you can and can’t have on your burger. It’s your burger. Put whatever you want on it. If it tastes good to you, then it’s good. You are your own perfect, unique snowflake of a burger eater.
But seriously, no ranch dressing.
What's the most unusual burger you've ever eaten? (Or most unusual burger experience you've had?)The most unusual burger experience I’ve had is a version of burger eating that at one point in history qualified as the most usual of burger experiences. I like to call it, "My Hamburger Had a First Name."
I went to an amazing grammar school called Manhattan Country School. It’s on 96th Street between 5th and Madison and is simply the best… institution… ever. Part of the experience of growing up in MCS was spending time (weeks at a time) on the school’s farm (the “country” part of the moniker).
They’d send us up to Roxbury, New York, to live, work and learn on the farm. We’d collect eggs in the morning from the chicken coop, milk the cows, shovel out the stalls—you get the idea. Among our responsibilities would be to tend to the cattle. Now this was more of a single-family-scale farm, so we’re talking just a few head out in the pasture, not thousands of cows living way too close to each other on a dirt patch.
You see, our cattle had names: Steve (really), Chestnut, and Bessie. (I think there’s a law about having to name every third cow Bessie.) We’d pet them and tend to them and get to know them. Then we’d eat them. The meat in the freezer would be labeled with the type of cut and the name of the cow from which it was, um, cut.
The first time I ate a cow whose name I knew was at my school’s farm and it was a hamburger. Her name was Bessie and she was delicious (if a bit overcooked).
What's the most overrated burger you've tried? Most underrated? Overrated is an easy one: BLT Burger. WTF? OMG! And whatever other abbreviations the kids no longer use on the interwebs. It absolutely escapes me why this establishment is still in business, let alone the positive reviews it has received.
Let me set the scene. I no longer live in New York, but many of the people I love most still do. This means I travel home (you see, I grew up there) quite often to see family, friends and to eat. On this particular occasion, I was perambulating through the city with another transplanted New Yorker who fits into the “I love most” category. She also liked the eating part of the New York visits (I told you, I love her). We had targeted a few places to check off the list, and happenstance (or what I can only assume is the curse of being born under a bad sign) placed Laurent Tourondel’s BLT Burger in our path. “How lucky!” I said. How naïve. After choking down my overpriced, under-seasoned patty, all I could do was lament the missed opportunity to fill my limited ‘New York City meals’ dance card with a worthy burger.
Underrated? Speaking of worthy NYC burgers. This was easy until a few days ago. Molly’s has long held a special place in my NYC burger file. I’ve taken many a friend to a dinner of a beautiful, pink, pub burger and fries along with some cold (i.e., properly served) Guinness at Molly’s. Until recently, it went acknowledged, but certainly underrated. That is, until one Mr. Adam Kuban blew the lid off my East Side hide out. Huzzah, Mr. Kuban. Well played. Nonetheless, Molly’s is going to have to count as the underrated portion of my response.