Roach Burgers

Your description of hours of operation reminded me of a Paris, France Catholic Bakery I read about in the New Yorker. The author of a food column traveled there to judge this bakery for his column, but when he arrived it was always closed. Finally, after repeated visits he learned that a hole opened in the convent wall at 2 AM. His source told him to Be There. Indeed, at 2 sharp a hole opened and in 30 minutes they were sold out and the hole closed. I don't recall what he thought of their product.

 

When I was stationed at McGuire AFB in N.J. I found a roach in my chile that looked just like a chile bean but had legs. I put it aside and finished the chile. I was young and hungry.

Had raw ground beef in Germany once at the urging of a friend stationed there. It was actually on the menu and what wasn't sold that day had to be thrown out by law.

 

While stationed at Beale three of us were in the chow hall on a Sunday evening - cold cuts and/or meatloaf. One of the guys held up a mouse foot and leg with his fork. We checked and we each had parts of it. Thirty years would pass before I could tolerate meatloaf.

Before dawn at Charleston the cook was frying eggs to order when a chicken skidded across the grill.

Who knows what else happened when we weren't looking?

 

I'm odd about meat. I want my steak still mooing when it's slapped on my plate but can't stand a hint of pink in my burger. Go figure.

 

I prefer mine welldoneanddead ..thank you- however on me rib eye a tinge of pink is allowed.

 

I use to eat then very rare when I worked on assembly line at GM but now have to be well done.

 

Falling in line with the roach burger theme, the very best burger I have ever had was in a pool hall that I used to hang out in.
It was a small cigar and cigarette smelling place with only about 6 tables plus one snooker table and of course, the grill and counter complete with a few metal seats.
The owner and cook was rarely seen without a cigar stub in his mouth and true to old pool hall greasy spoon fashion, he wore white kitchen pants with a greasy t-shirt and sometimes one could see the top of a half pint of whiskey sticking out of his back pocket.
On tournament nights he’d wear the same thing but he added a bow tie to his ensemble. He was something to behold but one of the finest men I have ever met.

When someone ordered a burger, Snooks (owner’s nickname) would reach into a tub in the cooler beside the grill and grab a big handful of ground beef. He’d ball it up a couple of times then slam it on his cutting board and slap it a couple of times with his hand then scoop it up with the spatula and slide it down the well seasoned flat grill. A little salt and pepper, a buttered and toasted bun with all the normal stuff that goes on a burger and bam, grease heaven.
Heck, it probably had a bit of flavor from his nicotine stained fingers and maybe even some cue chalk to go with it but for what it was worth, the burgers were fantastic.