My weekend was so lacking in culinary imagination that it’s not even worth describing as Anne did in her memorable lost weekend post. Saturday night, taking advantage of my temporary live-in babysitter (aka Mom), John and I went with Mark and Claire on what we chose to call a pub crawl, which for old people like us meant that we went to two, count ’em, two, bars in one night. One of them twice. I came home smelling like cigarette smoke for the first time in years! Whoo hoo. But to the point. First we went to Leopold Brothers which was on the empty side at 7:30 and had nice-tasting Pisco margaritas and some nachos which tasted pretty much like nachos everywhere except maybe a little fresher and healthier. Leopold’s continues its sad tradition of no grill items, and we had a hamburger jones, so at 8:30 or so we did a cold hike up to Old Town for burgers
Now here’s the problem. With the really occasional exception (I don’t quite get John’s lust for apple fritters nor does he understand my sometime craving for Chuckles) , my husband and I have an almost perfect gastronomical meeting of the minds. We both have a healthy (healthy?) respect for the burgers at Grizzly Peak, and we enjoy a trip to Blimpy Burger every month or two. But on the subject of Old Town burgers (7 oz. of Knight’s beef — abandon all thoughts of cows bucolically grazing on grass) we cannot agree. I say moist, meaty and flavorful. John says greasy and dense. Perhaps after last week’s disaster of an ABC burger, my standards were low. So I must ask you — in a town that purportedly has good burgers, can someone help me define what good is and where it is to be found?
And just for the record, we went back to Leopold Brother’s and had more margaritas and were proud to be the oldest people in the bar.