I have a pre-Confessions confession: This is a blog mostly about cooking and eating. Stick around long enough, and you'll learn that it's also about memories and surroundings, with a few fun sides.
However you arrived here, I'm glad you did. My name is Adam J. Holland and food is one of my therapeutic outlets — growing it, talking about it, and eating it. Like many others, I believe that a hot dog eaten at a ballpark tastes better than any other; or that bacon tastes best when cooked and eaten outdoors. I have no formal cooking education, other than a few classes here and there. I've subscribed to just about every cooking magazine on the U.S. market, and I own more than 300 cookbooks (at the time of this writing). Many of my family members and friends refer to me as a food snob because I have my Kosher salt brand preference, and I insist on using olive oil pressed from a single crop. But I also once brought Long John Silver's to my in-law's Easter dinner (more on that later), and made lunch at a particular hot dog joint the centerpiece of a family vacation.
However you arrived here, I'm glad you did. My name is Adam J. Holland and food is one of my therapeutic outlets — growing it, talking about it, and eating it. Like many others, I believe that a hot dog eaten at a ballpark tastes better than any other; or that bacon tastes best when cooked and eaten outdoors. I have no formal cooking education, other than a few classes here and there. I've subscribed to just about every cooking magazine on the U.S. market, and I own more than 300 cookbooks (at the time of this writing). Many of my family members and friends refer to me as a food snob because I have my Kosher salt brand preference, and I insist on using olive oil pressed from a single crop. But I also once brought Long John Silver's to my in-law's Easter dinner (more on that later), and made lunch at a particular hot dog joint the centerpiece of a family vacation.
My ultimate goal here is to share, jog some memories, and bring out the storyteller — and food snob in everyone.
Confession No. 1: 'My way' is with mustard .. and other considerations
This is one of those stories that one probably shouldn't tell on the first date, but it seems most appropriate for the summer season, when backyard chefs across the country fire up their grills to cook their version of the Great American Convenience Food.
The year was 1994 and the setting was southern New Jersey. I'd just recently relocated there from Texas for a radio job. It's funny how you leave one area and then suddenly become homesick for some of the oft-ignored food you left behind. In my case, I had a hankering for one of those greasy spoon-style cheeseburgers. Never in the Michelin ratings will you find reviews for holes-in-the-wall, and I didn't know too many locals. So, instead of embarking on a culinary adventure, I opted for familiarity. Perhaps I saw the national chain as remedy for my homesickness. After all, the restaurant's slogan was “Have it your way!” — which was all I really wanted.
As I pulled up to the freestanding menu board at the building's rear corner, a teenage male came over the intercom and asked to take my order. I responded that I wanted a burger with mustard and no onions; an order of fries; and a large soda.
“We don't put mustard on (burgers),” came his quick response.
“What,” I asked?
“We don't put mustard on (burgers),” he repeated, somewhat sternly. “We can give you mustard packets and you can put it on.”
“Why don't you put mustard on (burgers)? That seems a little odd,” I responded.
“We just don't,” he said.
Without even waiting for an order total, I pulled to the drive-thru window and requested to talk to the restaurant manager. Rolling his eyes, the teen walked away. The manager appeared at the window a moment later.
“May I help you,” the manager asked?
“I hope so,” I said. “The guy who took my order said you don't put mustard on (burgers).”
“We don't sir, but we do have mustard packets,” he said. I asked him whether he was serious and he just shook his head.
“Your sign says 'have it your way',” I said. “It's ridiculous that there are three main hamburger condiments and you only offer two of them.”
“You can have it your way … just without mustard,” he responded. I'd lost this battle, so I took the burger dry and asked for some packets.
Conveniently, the chain's national toll-free telephone number was printed on the bag that held my undressed dinner. I would call them when I arrived home. The corporate folks would be so embarrassed, that I'd be offered a handful of free burger coupons. Being the righteous person that I am, I would decline the offer and request that corporate just insist a bottle of mustard be kept in the kitchen of my local restaurant.
Though the lady on the other end of the phone was most professional, she offered nothing more than her apology, while letting me know that Texas was the only state that offered mustard on the company's flagship product. She suggested that I discuss the situation with the local manager or owner and politely asked me if there was anything else she could help me with.
I opened a lot of mustard packets during the next four years.
And while we're on the subject of burgers …
Hamburgers are a convenience food, in most cases, and most people aren't too picky about the order of things, so long as there isn't too much mayonnaise and a rogue onion hasn't found its way to the sandwich. But, I learned a few years ago while interviewing organizers of the Athens (Texas) Hamburger Festival, that there is a proper way to build a burger. The folks in Athens insist the hamburger was invented in their small east Texas town, and they have some pretty good stories to support their claim. Here are some of the hamburger rules they told me about:
- The lettuce should separate the other vegetables from the meat, serving as an insulator.
- Tomatoes, then onions should be stacked from there.
- Pickles have their place atop all other fillings. Why? Because the pickle juice trickles down to the lettuce and brings out more onion and tomato flavor on the way.
I don't lay claim to inventing the hamburger, but I've developed a few 'rules' of my own.
- Cheese — unless you are making a specialty burger (mushroom, pizza etc.) — should always be placed on the bottom bun, just below the meat. My reasoning: Cheese congeals when it cools. It also works wonders for un-crisping the lettuce. Let the two mingle only in your mouth.
- The buns should always be toasted. The easiest way is to use non-stick cooking spray and place face down on the grill, or face up under a broiler. My reasoning: Toasted bread brings another flavor element not found on most hamburgers. It also slows down the process of bread becoming soggy.
- Keep the meat mixture simple, and handle it as little as possible. After making patties of only meat, I sprinkle them Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper. If I'm cooking on a gas grill or in a skillet, I also use a drop or two of hickory smoke-flavored liquid (there are a few nationally available brands).
As for the condiments ... Have your burger your way, but I'm sticking with my yellow mustard.
