Pizza Week vs. Burger Week: A Taste of Infidelity

Pizza Week vs. Burger Week: A Taste of Infidelity 

~A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR~

While my initial concept was to create a one hour long visual film simply titled: Burger, Beyonce’s lawyers said they would sue me for $100,000 trillion dollars. As you read, you will just have to imagine a burger wearing a fur coat, smashing car windows with a bat, and singing: “I can taste the dishonesty / it’s all over your [pizza] breath…” 

* * * 

INTUITION

Sometimes my friends and I like to play a game called “Do, Dump, or Date.” The basic premise of the game is one person names three different people, and you have to decide which one you will do (a one night stand, and not the type of furniture ifyaknowwaddimean), dump (tell 'em boy, bye!), or date (you’re locked down with this choice forever). 

Since I’m only attracted to food, my rules for this game are limited to various categories of cuisine. 

Recently, we were playing my version of this game, and a friend asked: do, dump or date –  pizza, burgers, tacos.” Without hesitation, I obviously picked date burger, do pizza, and dump tacos (apologies to Taco Bell, we’ve just had too much of a tumultuous relationship...). 

The truth surfaced. The secret I’ve quietly kept to myself was finally revealed: I’ll fux with pizza. 

DENIAL

Facebook was poppin’ with event invites. Amateur DJ shows left and right. Someone’s having a birthday party and they invited 800 people. Then I saw it: Portland Pizza Week 2016. After Burger Week 2015, TMZ quoted me saying “I want all weeks to be dedicated to food.” Bless you, Portland Mercury, for making my dreams come true. Curse you, Portland Mercury, for making me choose between burgers and pizza. 

Eyes darting left and right, I clicked “going.” It’s official – I’m cheating on burger week. 

ANGER

They post the list of participating pizza places online with bios and photos of the slices. I meticulously research and identify the pizzas that interest me. I’m a little sick to my stomach. This is the exact plan of action I take when deciding on Burger Week burgers, but this time it’s with pizza. It doesn’t feel right. 

Meanwhile, Burger wears a fabulous dress amidst flames, swings a string of lights over its head and ferociously screams: “WHO DA FUQ DO U THINK I AM / YOU AIN’T MARRIED TO AN AVERAGE BURGER, BOY.” 

APATHY

Pizza week begins. I give every excuse in the book. 

“I’m just doing it to compare with burger week.”

“It would be wrong for me to pass up $2 slices.” 

“I only want to try a few of them.”

I disguise my guilt by telling myself it’s all for the blog, and my post will be about how pizza week will never be as good as burger week. As the week progresses, I’m losing sight of why I started. I’m trying all of these different pizzas and I’m feeling a little more satisfied than I’m comfortable with. 

I start with the loaded baked potato pizza from Roman Candle and it’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before, but I try to downplay it. I move onto Atlas’s whiskey soaked smoked brisket pizza. It’s tasty but very heavy, and leaves me feeling disgusted with myself.

The next day, I try the Nacho Porko from Pizza Schmizza. It was good but it just didn’t excite me in the way I expected it to. A few days later, I visit Sizzle Pie for their slices: Yin Yang Theory and vegan Dagger Moon. I’m surprised to find that I like the vegan pizza better than the regular pizza. Vegan? Really?? I don't even know who I am anymore?! 

I would NEVER date pizza. Baby, this is just a one time thing! I promise it won’t happen again… 

Burger brazenly retaliates: “Better call pizza with the good cheese.” 

EMPTINESS

My stomach is full, but my heart is empty. None of this feels right. I haven’t felt the rush of speeding to an establishment before they run out of supply. Pizza doesn’t give me meat sweats like a fine, juicy patty does. 

I appreciate all of the Pizza Week participants but they just lack that special spark I have with Burger Week. Putting arugula or Italian sausage on some crust just isn’t doing it for me. Where is the creativity?! Where is the PASSION??? 

I want burger week back. 

ACCOUNTABILITY

I decide the first meal I’m going to have after pizza week is a burger. After all, we have a child together (named ihadtheburger.com) and our brand is built on burgers NOT sidechick slices. This will set things right in the world again. Maybe…

Ashes to ashes, dust to pizzas. 

REFORMATION

I eat my last slice of Pizza Week pizza. It was the Reubenesque from Blackbird pizza, which was essentially a reuben on crust, carefully loaded with sauerkraut, thin-sliced pastrami, swiss, mozzarella, and a hint of mustard. I hate myself for saying this, but it was amazing. I try my best to forget about it as soon as I finish, and focus on the burgers ahead. 

Okay burgers, now let’s get in formation. 

FORGIVENESS

After giving Pizza Week a chance, I ultimately feel unimpressed with a majority of the pizzas. I decide I need to redeem myself and stick to my original plan: only talk about how burger week is much better than pizza week. 

RESURRECTION

I eat a burger. It’s nothing fancy, just a quick no frills fix from a random restaurant. But it feels pure. 

HOPE

I only had 6 slices of pizza throughout the week. I had 14 burgers during Burger Week. That’s saying something about where my allegiance lies, right…? 

REDEMPTION

Was it worth it? NO. 

Well, yes. Sorta. Ugh. 

But ULTIMATELY NO! 

The conclusion is that nothing can ever beat Burger Week. Pizza Week was great. We had some fun times, and good slices. A few places got creative with it, which I can respect, appreciate, and admire. 

But just like Beyonce, nothing in this world can ever compare to the greatness of a cheeseburger. Burger Week has an incomprehensible level of excellence that consistently raises the bar and leaves all of us at its mercy. Nothing blew my mind the way a burger does on the daily. 

So, for the rest of my days I will attempt to redeem myself in the form of public unrequited devotion to burgers. 

If you want to read the rest, you can stream it on Tidal. 

Suburb-gers: A Return To The Giant Burger

"Where are you from?"

"Portland..."

I've told this lie countless times. As much as I like to pretend like I came out of the womb wearing flannel, it’s time to come clean. The truth is, I am a suburban princess.

I grew up in Lake Oswego – a suburb only 15 minutes away from Portland but a world of a difference. Instead of strip clubs, we have strip malls. It’s a place where acrylic nails and caramel macchiatos thrive. A place where people pay millions to live on a man-made lake infested with algae. But within this alternate universe of Ugg boots and vanity license plates, there lies one gem that remains unscathed: Giant Burger.

Eating at Giant Burger is like a rite of passage for any Lake Oswego native. When kids reach middle school, it’s an age old tradition to cross the train tracks and trek to the Giant Burger on early release days. I vividly remember my own pilgrimage.

The year was 2003 and it was the first early release of the year, meaning LO school districts ended at 11:15am. I went to Waluga Junior High, but when we arrived at the Giant Burger, our rival school Lake Oswego Junior High was also in attendance. We kept our distance, each staying on our side of the outdoor picnic tables. The air was thick with tension. All it took was a sly comment about which football team was better, and all hell broke loose. They called the cops, and we were all told to go home. I never got to finish my burger – a true tragedy.

The parking lot where the infamous 2003 Junior High brawl broke out. 

As I reminisced on my younger years, I decided it was time to return to Giant Burger and see if it was good as I remember. Can a burger from the suburbs (aka a suburb-ger) compete with Portland’s finest patties?

Walking into Giant Burger is like walking into a time machine. The establishment is over 30 years old but remains completely unchanged with retro A-frame architecture, vinyl leather booths, and mustard yellow and brown color schemes. It’s like the Pharrell of restaurants – ageless and beautiful even after all these years.

I approach the counter. There’s a stack of pamphlets reading “GLUTEN IS A MYTH.” Seems legit.

A sign taped to the register says CASH ONLY. Yes, in 2016, they only accept cash and do not have an ATM within the restaurant. It’s all part of the charm.

While the Giant Burger is famous for its (you guessed it) Giant Burger, they offer over 30 different burger combinations. But rookies be warned – only a fool would think they were strong enough to battle the goliath that is The Filler (aka the Giant Burger), which includes two pieces of bacon, cheddar cheese, one all beef patty, a slice of ham, another patty, one large egg over medium, pickles, onions, tomatoes, and lettuce on a toasted sesame bun.

I decide to go with the classic cheeseburger, along with cajun fries and a banana milkshake for good measure. We take a spot in a booth, instantly comforted by the majestic unicorn wall art. If you look at a different angle, you can spot a dragon. It sells for the reasonable price of $125.

$125 for this masterpiece? It's a steal of a deal. 

Our food arrives in plastic yellow baskets because this is a BURGER JOINT and they don’t fux with plates here. I peer into my basket and meet my old friend, the classic cheeseburger. A toasted sesame seed bun, all beef patty, cheddar cheese, tomatoes, shredded lettuce, thick onion slice, mayonnaise and ketchup. It’s so no-frills that I don’t really have anything to write about, aside from the fact that it tastes as good as I remember. It boggles my mind how they can take something so simple and make it into something so magical. It truly is something you need to taste for yourself.

The cajun fries are perfectly crispy with the right consistency – not too thin, not too thick. The fry seasoning has a zesty kick that makes you unable to stop eating until you find yourself picking at the crumbs to savor the flavor for just a second more. The banana milkshake is creamy and thick, and you can taste the potassium seeping into your veins. Everything about this experience is pure bliss. Is it the onion enzymes in the air, or am I about to cry of happiness?

Alas, all good things must come to an end. I feel grateful that this time it wasn’t a result of someone calling the cops on a middle school brawl. Overcome with emotion and burger-induced euphoria, I leave my Giant Burger time machine behind, knowing that 30 years from now, I can probably expect the exact same experience.

Never change, Giant Burger. Never change.

The Great Debate: Is A Burger A Sandwich?

*Irons out creases on power pantsuit*

*Taps mic*
Hello, is this thing on? Yes? Ok.

My fellow Americans, I come to you with very important news. You have been LIED TO for too long. I’m afraid I can’t keep my silence any longer.

Some of you think of today as “National Sandwich Day”. While I am a wholehearted believer and supporter of sandwiches, I’m here to stand up for what I believe in. And that is...

*dramatic pause for effect*

A BURGER IS NOT A SANDWICH.

*The crowd whispers frantically in a frenzy of disbelief and outrage*

*A woman in the back of the press room faints*

After much deliberation, I have proof. In a careful study conducted by professional Twitter robot scientists, 72% of people DO NOT consider a burger a sandwich, and the numbers are growing at an alarming rate. The other 28% are completely wrong, and probably do erratic things like go on juice cleanses or refer to full grown cats as kittens (it’s a cat, are you for real??). I am no longer on speaking terms with those in the 28%.

Let me be clear: a sandwich is anything between two slices of bread. Peanut butter and jelly between two slices of bread? Sandwich. Spaghetti between two slices of garlic bread? Sandwich. Bread between two slices of bread? Sandwich. LOOK IT UP!

Many of you interested in counter arguing my truth may feel tempted to consult the Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary regarding the word “burger”. There, you will find a completely unhelpful definition reading: “a sandwich similar to a hamburger”. Upon further investigation, you may find “a sandwich consisting of one or more cooked patties of ground meat” constitutes a "hamburger". 

There are two important distinctions I would like to make here:

1.  “SIMILAR” does not mean “IS”. 

2. There is a crucial word this definition lacks: BUNS. 

You cannot have a burger without a bun. I repeat, you CANNOT have a burger without a bun! Additionally, you also need a patty. Could you put thinly-sliced deli meat in a bun and call it a burger? No. You would call that a sandwich. If you put a ground beef patty between two slices of bread, is it a burger? NO. IT’S A SIGN YOU NEED TO GET YOUR LIFE TOGETHER. 

I did my best to bite my tongue while Burger Week participants tried to pass meatballs or pork as burgers. Sure, they were delicious. But they were SANDWICHES. And as my burger passion and cholesterol rises, I must stand up for what is right. My hope is that we can finally rid our world of this injustice and let the truth roar its head onto all future generations to come. Take a good hard look into the mirror, AMERICA, and ask yourself: “Do I really want to keep living a lie?”

You call a spade a spade. It’s time to call a burger a BURGER!

*Rips off pantsuit to reveal cheeseburger undergarments*

*Lights podium on fire*

Thank you. I will not be taking any questions at the moment. For all media requests, please refer to my trusted publicist and confidant, Guy Fieri.