Sometimes I want to pay too much for my burger. That is to say, sometimes I feel like sitting down in a nice environment with good service and the extra touches that a higher end restaurant uses to distinguish itself and inflate its prices. I'm in search of tablecloth, weighty flatware, and a flurry of "sirs" directed at me. Often these places lack the creativity or passion of their mid-range counterparts, but they also tend to offer a little more consistency. And when they fall short, they throw (my) money at the problem.

This can be as much exercise in my playing with the toys of adulthood as it is about my looking for a great meal. Truth be told, I assume goodness, not greatness, from these establishments when it comes to burger preparation. In many ways, that's also what I am paying for. I pay a little extra and I am, at the very least, assured a good meal. Along with this assurance comes the strange, almost dissociative experience of eating my childhood's meal in the full expression of adulthood. I have my own money, I make my own choices, and I'll have the burger.

The other day the force of this high-end desire came upon me suddenly. I could feel my wallet getting lighter as the front door closed behind me. I decided to exercise my adult agency by exorcising these pangs of burger extravagance at Spark Woodfire Grill in Studio City.

I remember when Spark opened in 2001. It came on the scene with such a mannered upscale sheen that I was convinced it was part of a chain. It had that out-of-the-box, high-end vibe of a good hotel's restaurant in residence—the fancy dining aesthetic that a committee comes up with. In fact, it was the partnering of two of Los Angeles's big time Italian restaurateur's that led to the creation of this Tuscan grill (that has since begat two other locations). Danilo Terribli was responsible for the soaring ceilings and quite fine food at the now defunct Alto Palato and Bill Chait is the mind behind the thoroughly ordinary Louise's Trattoria chain. I had always avoided it, but then my sister came to town and we had a satisfying lunch. All these restaurants are Italian, but that doesn't mean there couldn't be a decent burger.

I order the half-pound Kobe (the only blend they serve) burger with cheddar and then throw in a second burger order with the same cheddar and the addition of caramelized onions, bacon, and avocado. The second burger sounds like a too-much-by-half, but since the last high-end burger I had with this much condiment chaos was truly delicious, I give it a go.

The pair of burgers arrives open-faced and looking hearty. I immediately identify two disturbing things. First, they've placed the burger meat side down on the top of the bun. This means that the condiments end up on the bottom and the cheese is in the middle. I can offer up a few reasons why this is a problem, but mostly it's just aesthetically annoying. The second is a suspicious side of fries. They have a seasoning coating cooked into them, which always makes me nervous. After sampling a few, my suspicions are confirmed: The coating masks all the earthy delight of the spud and adds an unwelcome pile of flavor. This is, in part, representative of my preference for a straight-forward, twice-cooked french fry, but I can fairly say that these are a weak iteration of this lesser preparation.

I dig into the mountainous, topping-happy creation and realize that my previous experience with such a preparation was the exception. This monster of too-much-by-half add-ons is the rule. I put it down before I do any more damage.

The simple cheeseburger is dressed with lettuce, tomato, and a few large slices of pickle. The first bite gives me a rush of flavor and juice. Here is the burger experience I was looking for. The Kobe blend (the server claimed the real thing; I remain dubious), is full of fat and is a decent mid-range grind. Sadly, the pleasure soon fades. The bun is a spongy and fresh, but has been over-buttered and under grilled, giving it a wet and limp feel. The vegetables aren't particularly high quality and distract from the hearty meat and tangy cheese. The pickle is particularly unwelcome, so off it goes.

While there is some potential in this burger, there are ultimately too many missteps. The bun is almost soaked through halfway through eating the burger. Along with this issue, I find heaps of mayonnaise atop my burger. With such a high fat content in the meat, I find the addition of mayo—especially in this measure—unnecessary. The final nail in the coffin of my fancy burger is the cooking of the meat. I can't say it's overcooked, as a portion of the patty is nicely medium rare, but I can say it's unevenly cooked. One side of the patty is cooked through and the other is just right. Also, there is little evidence of any char. My suspicion is that a faulty and underpowered grill is to blame for my underwhelming burger, but assigning blame affords me little solace. The price of admission was supposed to insure against such issues.

To be fair, Spark's prices aren't nearly as high as I'd thought they'd be. It may be a response to the times, but they offer ten items under ten dollars on their lunch menu, including the standard Kobe burger. Considering the setting and service, this is a fair deal for a burger and fries, but I didn't come for a bargain. Maybe it was my mistake from the beginning—an expression of a waning American desire for excess that has revealed itself as simply excessive.

In the final analysis, I prefer the comforts of a fine meal to the trappings of fine dining. I prefer the passion of someone who dreams of building a great restaurant, rather than those set on building restaurant chains. As I make my way out , my server makes eye contact and offers a friendly, "Thank you, Sir!" I smile, return the "thank you," and realize, I'd rather people just call me Damon.