I’ve had various relationships with my bartenders. One meddled in one of my relationships (which I guess I should thank her for), one was like a surrogate mother who made sure I stayed fed, one gave me and my ex-girlfriend Xmas presents, another sold me grass, another told me her girlfriend wanted a three-way with a guy (but that it wouldn’t be me because she liked girly guys and her girlfriend liked macho dudes and they couldn’t agree on the kind of dude to include), but this one was an asshole.
She was the kind of asshole whose idea of a playful jib was to tell you you had no friends, tell you that because you drink cheap beer you have to drink rhubarb vodka, shit all over your advice to a distraught friend, and basically call you a pussy because you stop at two beers.
And I still tipped her. Really don’t know why.
Eventually, I just stopped going to that bar for a minute and then I heard a rumor that she got fired for sticky fingers in the tip jar. Not sure if I believe that, she was an asshole - a deliberate asshole - but she wasn’t a thief.
Then again, it’s not like I knew her. And she was a fucking asshole.
Important thing is that it was just a rumor, like when Connor Dennis got caught jackin’ off in the sick bay in eighth grade. It was just a rumor.
Anyway, this asshole bartender found out I like Band Box Diner. I like that place, best burger in Minneapolis, reminds me of Koral Hamburg back in Toledo. First time I went there, I told the line cook that he just made me the best cheeseburger I’d had in twelve years. And then I went back there another time and I had a cheeseburger.
And I’m telling Kafe Nasty about this goddamned burger and this asshole bartender asks if I’ve had the Lunch Box and I said no, I had the cheeseburger. Well, what the hell was wrong with me? The Lunch Box is so good. I had to try it.
I went back another time and I got a cheeseburger and I told Kafe Nasty about it and this asshole bartender jumps down my throat because she thought she told me to try the Lunch Box. Why didn’t I get the Lunch Box?
So, yesterday, maybe a year since I’ve had to deal with that asshole bartender, I decided to try the Lunch Box.
I stopped in at Band Box and I was greeted by the waitress, she started me off with an ice cold Coke; I’m beginning to think that they also have the coldest sody pop in town, too. I opened up the menu, scanned down the page, and saw the Lunch Box: A cheeseburger topped with coleslaw and crispy tater strings. OK, kind of ironic how this happens right when I’m in the middle of a slawdog phase but I’ll roll with it.
No, it’s not a sign. Shut the fuck up.
So I fuck about with my new Rubik’s Cube while I wait for my burger to cook - took me seven and a half hours to solve - and just kind of enjoyed the atmosphere. I like the place. It’s a neighborhood greasy spoon, the people who eat here and work here are neighbors. They know each other, they know each other’s kids. The line cook and one of the customers were talking about their kids’ test scores. It’s places like this and and the Wienery over in Cedar-Riverside and Ideal Diner up in Logan Park that aren’t really restaurants so much they are extensions of people’s homes; in fact, you can walk into Ideal and there’s pictures of customers on the wall. Some holding fish they just caught, others holding babies they just shat out. I prefer these kinds of places, really. Don’t get me wrong, I like a little cafe now and again with some French accordion music on in the background and a stick thin barista wearing a beret and sunglasses indoors. I like my delis where the aging hipster staff sing along to Born To Run era Springsteen and the only two good Smiths songs playing on the sound system and I can just grab a sandwich and skeddadle. But if I’m going to sit down someplace, chances are I want to be in a place where there’s fifty percent shot that somebody working there is named Bonnie and she really hates that she can’t smoke inside anymore. Just feels like my world.
ANYway, let’s talk about this burger. I bet you’re dying to hear about this burger, aren’t you? I’ve spent so much goddamned time talking about everything but the burger that now you have to know about this burger. It’s almost like I hyped the burger up by avoiding talking about the burger.
It was good.
They already make the best cheeseburger in Minneapolis, the addition of slaw and tater strings didn’t change that.
The patty is the three-time returning champ of this biathlon and is done in what I guess what the kids are calling the smashburger style but what I just call the right way to make a fucking burger. It gets a crispy but not too crispy char on the outside and has a forgiving rubbery tenderness on the inside. The cheese is neon yellow American and is melted on until it’s essentially now genetically a part of the meat.
The tater strings tasted like french fries. The coleslaw used a mayonnaise base and gave the burger some sweetness. The pickles balanced out the slaw with some vinegar acidity. The bun was about the size of a fat Cornish game hen to hold the whole thing together.
I used a fork to eat what fallen on to the plate. I mean, it’s coleslaw and french fries, why wouldn’t you eat it?
It was good.
Would I try it again? Nah. I mean maybe. I really just like a simple cheeseburger: catsup, mustard, onion, pickles. They have some other variations that I’d be willing to put some money on but I’ll probably stick with the regular one. If you have a suggestion and you’re not an asshole, let me know.
Anyway, Band Box still gets the Sandwich Bully equivalent of three Michelin stars, three eighth notes: ♫♪
Look, if you’ve read this before, you know I’m no good at this sort of thing. I know I don’t sound enthusiastic but they really do make the best burger in this town and you should go to them right now and give them all your money. What other standalone ma & pa restaurant do you know of has its own Wikipedia entry?
Go. Now. Get the cheeseburger.
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