BURGER TALK

New York transplants have been bitching about the pizza in L.A. for as long as there have been cross-country flights.  I myself have been guilty of such whining, but over the years I stopped complaining about what I lost moving west and instead started appreciating what I gained:  L.A. is a phenomenal town for burgers. From the beloved Double-Double at In N Out to the decadent-and expensive- “Big Mec” at Petit Trois, no city has made the burger its own quite like Los Angeles.  So for my first official foray into the food blogosphere, I decided to check out one of the few burger joints I hadn’t been to, a place in Silverlake with a great reputation called THE FIX.

And since eating is always better as a communal experience, I invited my friend and fellow burger fanatic Dave to join me.  We hadn’t spoken in a while, so what better way to catch up than over a good meal?  I got there early and ordered for both of us, and by the time he got there the food had arrived.  He came with an appetite-he was so hungry he barely said a word before sitting down and taking his first bite.  I followed suit and dug into my Silverlake Burger (angus patty, cheddar, bacon.)

The rumors about the Fix, I was happy to learn, were true.  The burger is fantastic- a juicy, thick perfectly cooked slab of beef with gobs of melted cheddar and a garlic aioli that's worth the bad breath.  I was in burger heaven. But as much as I was enjoying the meal, Dave seemed to be having a trans-formative experience.  The burger actually seemed to be bringing him to tears…which was kind of odd.

“Becca’s leaving me.”

I stopped mid-bite.  “What are you talking about?”

“She threw me out. I haven’t seen my kids in weeks.”

I had hoped Dave and I would have some laughs and maybe talk about what makes a great burger. This wasn’t the catch-up chit-chat I was prepared for, especially on my first official day as a food blogger.  But I figured I could do my job and be a good friend at the same time. What choice did I have?

His story was banal to the point of cliché, shocking only that it involved people I knew personally: A marriage gone stale; a chance encounter with his daughter’s teaching assistant at Starbucks; flirty texts that led to drinks, and then…

 “I couldn’t stop myself. I knew it was wrong, but Jesus…she made me feel things I thought were dead inside of me.  And the sex!  God, she fucked like an animal!” He said this last part a little too loud, making me uncomfortable. I instinctively shoved one of the delicious complimentary pickle spears into my mouth, more for emotional support than anything else.

Of course, it all went to hell. “Becca found some pics on my phone. It was like I wanted to get caught.” She threw him out that night.  “It’s all gone, everything we built together.  And for what?"  I sat there taking in everything Dave was saying while munching on Garlic Fries…crisp and perfectly seasoned, the garlic elevating them past the point of mere fried potatoes.  A must get. 

“I know a guy who said that he and his wife grew apart so gradually that when it was finally over he couldn’t even give a reason," Dave continued. "But it wasn’t like that for me at all.  I knew exactly what the problem was, but instead of dealing with it I got resentful and then justified some pretty shitty behavior. I'm such an idiot.”  All I could do was nod.  Dave was hurting and I wanted to say something…anything…to take his pain away.

“We should get onion rings.”

“Onion rings?  What are you talking about? Onion rings? This is my life!” Dave said, throwing his Seoul burger (Mushroom, kimchi, Korean bbq sauce) down in disgust.  “I mean…Goddammit.” For a moment, I was ashamed. The truth is, I’m not good in these situations; I never know what to say. Dave’s crisis had made me realize my own shortcomings as a friend.

I ordered the onion rings anyway.  Highly recommend.

We sat there for a while longer. I sucked down one of the Fix’s signature Oreo shakes—made with artisanal, small batch ice cream—as Dave laid out his plans for what would come next:  Find an affordable apartment with enough room for his kids.  Go into therapy.  Rebuild. “Honestly, I have no idea I'm doing,” he lamented.  I didn't envy his future.

Dave just stared off into space, contemplating the mess he made until he reached across the table and picked up an onion ring.  “This is really good.”  I was happy to see him eat. Maybe in some small way I had helped, after all.

After that we said our goodbyes.  I walked back to my car with thoughts about my friend’s plight and memories of an amazing meal battling for space in my head. Then I drove back home to digest everything. I was meeting friends for Mexican in a few hours, and hoped that my dinner plans would be much less dramatic.

The Fix Burger ***1/2 out of ****, 2520 Hyperion Avenue, Los Angeles CA 90027 (323) 661-8494