Like it or not, it’s become almost impossible to discuss burger greatness without discussing beef. Round or sirloin? Chuck or round? Round versus chuck? How thick should it be? When should it be salted? Oh, and yes, what should you cook it over, or in?

Then, there’s the cheese. Melted? Grilled? Low-fat? Non-fat? Salted or unsalted?

I’m sure we can sit all day debating these questions and still not come up a uniform answer til we’re old and gay.

Surprisingly, the ultimate cheeseburger is more than the answer to all those questions; it’s a package deal. Attention is given to all of the burger’s frequently undersung and unsung components. On the one hand, you have the juicy patty, freshly ground.

On the other, you have the cheese – melted cheddar, oozing with cheesy goodness.

Then, there’s the bacon, all three fat slices of it, adding a smoky dimension to your burger.

Then, there are the pickles, taken right out of the barrel (not pre-sliced or from a can).

Finally, you have the bun – soft and grill-toasted. Toss in the onions, perfectly cut into frizzy spirals, and you have a cheeseburger you will not soon forget.

Unless, of course, you have cheeseburger dresses made – 7 of them for each day of the week.

Yum

Then, I followed the angry, young musician I’d been dating at the time to Manchester, Connecticut. He went to chase inspiration; I went because he went, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course, it wasn’t – he broke my heart while housechores broke my nails. But there was one bright light in my Manchester misadventures – Shady Glen Dairy Stores. That was how I stumbled into one of the most famous cheeseburger places in the annals of roadside cheeseburger dining.

After Manchester, my taste in cheeseburgers (and men) changed forever.

I’m sorry Aunt Cassey; your cheeseburgers still rock but I’ll have to bump them down a notch on my list, where it will run a close second to Bernice Reig’s sensational creation. How delicious was the Bernice special? It’s incredible, like suddenly gaining the ability to fly.

What’s amazing about the Shady Glen cheeseburger is that if you take it apart, ingredient by ingredient, it’s nothing to write home about. The cheese is delicious; but so are countless other restaurants’ cheeses. The meat is tasty; but not in a way that stays with you for long. Put them together, though, and what’s when the Shady Glen magic happens.

Spectacular, that’s the only word I will associate with their cheeseburger. On top is soft cheese while everywhere else, there is textured cheese – in some part of your burger, the cheese is crisp; in others, it’s chewy.

Is it good enough to plan a trip for? Absolutely! But I must warn you, it’s best enjoyed without a young, angry, faithless pothead in tow. 

What will you do with those splendid stacks of meat and cheese?

Will you force yourself to gobble them up, even if you might end up throwing them up?

Will you give them away?

Throw them out?

William Hundley gives us some ideas.

Cheeseburger bookstand

Cheeseburger seat

Cheeseburger TV

Cheeseburger skate

Cheeseburger and chihuahua

Cheeseburger iron

Of course, I can easily think of other uses for cheeseburgers I can’t eat. But I’m interested to hear about what you would do. What would you?

If you’re female, gorgeous, and starving, you sit on a brownstone stoop with your legs spread just so, hike up your dress, and eat your cheeseburger like you’d just grown super flexible muscles in your mouth.

Some would it sexy.

Others will tell you you look disturbingly like a boa.

And then there are those, like, me, who would only want to have what your having.

Yes, I love cheeseburgers; and the fact that it’s possible to look sexy wolfing them down makes me LOVE them even more. But I’d also love to know how any female alive can snort a cheeseburger like that and not look like a blimp.

How, pray tell, can one go through all those calories in one sitting, look ravishing even with all that dripping, and afterwards, redirect the extra poundage to one’s bra?

When Padma Lakshmi was interviewed about that time she made love to the Western bacon hamburger (let’s not mince ground beef here; she wasn’t eating that burger, she was having sex with it), she answered, “It’s a beautiful love song to food. I think eating in itself is the act of great sensuality, so all you have to do is point the camera in the right direction.”

Okay, Padma. I get that eating is sexy; and that girls who can work up an appetite are hot. But seriously, does anyone really believe you devour this beautiful monster of a cheeseburger regularly? In the real world, you would be a huge construction guy sitting on a sidewalk somewhere, gorging on this giant cheeseburger while sauce drips over your overalls.

But no, I don’t hate you. I understand you. When you’re young, female, and sexy, you should promptly have sexual relations with your meal.

So, I’m going out now to get me a Western Bacon Cheeseburger. And then, I’ll sit on a stoop, hike up my clingy sundress all the way to mid-thigh, and cram this huge calorific delight into my educated maw.

You know what your Big Mac is made of. It’s made of patties, onions, iceberg lettuce, American cheese, pickles, and a special “Mac” sauce. But that’s the Big Mac you know; what about the Big Mac you don’t?

Elsewhere in the world, this spectacularly average part of Americana comes with a different face and a different name.

Maharaja Mac. How do you sell the Big Mac to a population that does not eat beef? If you’re from McDonalds’, here’s how you will do it: you will replace beef with lamb and baptize the resulting burger, Maharaja.  India, land of mysticism, elephants, mahajaras, and slumdog millionaires has the Maharaja Mac, formerly with lamb for patties; now, made of chicken.

A Mac for the beef-hatin'

Mega Tamago. You won’t find this in Japanese drive-thru’s now, but not too long ago, the Japanese were munching on a Japanese Mac called the Mega Tamago.

Meet the mega tamago.

The McKinley Mac. This glorious pile of cheese and two-quarter pound patties is named after the highest peak in North America – Mount McKinley. Don’t go phoning for McKinley Macs, though; this burger is only available in Alaska.

Hello, McKinley Mac!

Son of Mac. First of all, I believe it makes perfect sense for this burger to exist. We have the son of God, the son of a gun, and the son of a bitch. Why not toss in the son of Mac to that lineup? This burger was formerly sold in Australia and is still available in some U.S outlets as the Mac Jr.

Mac Mitzvah. I kid! I kid! I really have no idea what the Israeli version of the Big Mac is. But when I was there, I got to try their kosher version of the Big Mac. It tasted pretty much like the Big Macs here, except that it does not have cheese and it does not have a name – not a name I caught onto, anyway. And even if I did, I doubt it would be something I can pronounce without popping a vein.

What about your Big Mac? What is it called? How does it look?

And so, when President Barack Obama grabbed lunch from a fast-food restaurant in Washington one day, the press scrambled to get the skinny on his order.

What did he eat?

What did he drink?

Did he look like he is thinking about how to re-tool the economy while he ate?

I’m not sure if cheeseburger for lunch could inspire a guy to untold heights of nation-building powers, but this was what the president ordered: a cheeseburger with tomato, lettuce, mustard, and jalapaneo peppers, and several more cheeseburgers for take-out.

The president is not the only Obama who loves cheeseburgers. So does his wife, who confesses to making cheeseburger runs.

I’m not sure about you, but I think I’d like to give this guy a break. He loves cheeseburgers, that much we already know from reports. And I’m sure every time he takes a bite, he forgot all about politics, all about the recession. It was just him and his cheeseburger, and the fact that it tasted so glorious he must have felt like he had gained the ability to teleport (or swing more votes).

But I’ll have to admit, each time I think of Obama snacking on a cheeseburger while worrying over how to secure the financial freedom of the freeworld, I feel a forlorn little gurgle in my belly and I tear up. Can’t a man enjoy his cheeseburger in privacy?

President or not, at the end of the day, the guy is no different from us. He probably wishes his waistline were a little smaller, and that Dijon mustard (which he loves on his cheeseburger) wouldn’t wreck so much havoc on his cholesterol count.

Enter this recipe for healthy cheeseburger.

You see, I’ve always known I needed to eat healthier but just couldn’t bring myself to give my cheeseburger up. It didn’t help that this recession happened, and freelance jobs became harder to come by. As the market snuffed one well-paying gig after the next, I found myself dicing my grocery bill by eating cheap and anything fastfood.

And so it was that this unfortunate situation came about – for every 80 points that the Dow drops, I gain a point in cholesterol count. Fortunately, I discovered how to make this healthful cheeseburger (not a myth, I swear), and I’m sharing it with you just in case you find yourself needing to do a gut-check.

Ingredients:

• 1 pound of white turkey meat (ground)
• 1 tablespoon of Spike seasoning
• 2 teaspoons of Worcestershire sauce
• 1/4 cup of bread crumbs
• 1/2 cup of scallions
• 1/2 cup of soy sauce
• 4 slices of cheese (either low-fat or non-fat)
• 1/2 cup of light mayonnaise
• 3 tablespoons of ketchup
• 1 tablespoon of relish

Method:

• Mix the following in a large bowl: turkey meat, Worcestershire sauce, bread crumbs, scallions, and spike seasoning.
• Form 4 patties out of the mixture.
• Grease a large skillet and heat until hot.
• Add patties and cook for 2 to 3 minutes.
• Flip the patties over before adding soy sauce.
• Cover the pan. Let it simmer until the patties are cooked throughout.
• Remove the lid. Then, place a slice of cheese on each patty, and allow it to melt.
• Combine the mayo with the relish and the ketchup.
• Place them, and your patties, on oven-steamed buns. Serve with the condiment of your choice.

See? It’s easy, healthy, cheeesy, and yum.

Jesus fasted in the wilderness for 40 days and nights. The dead are mourned for 40 days in Christian and Muslin cultures. A woman is pregnant for 40 weeks. Ali Baba had to hide from 40 thieves. And, you have to get 40 winks, before you’re said to have enjoyed a short sleep.

Elsewhere, in the cheeseburger front, David Burke Primehouse‘s executive chef, Rick Gresh, says their slabs of beef have to be aged for 40 days or they will lose their distinctive taste.

I’m not sure what it is about the number 40 that makes the number the stuff of legends and stories. I do know that if Gresh says he needs 40 days and nights to age his beef, then he’s welcome to it. After all, I can’t imagine having a Primehouse burger done any other way.

You see, the beef that David Burke Primehouse uses all come from Prime. Let me make that clear – they come from Prime; they are not Prime. Prime is a 2,500-pound giant of a Black Angus bull who lives on a Kentucky farm and spends his days siring (actual process not as exciting as described).

Beef from Prime’s offspring can be chomped down at David Burke Primehouse. If that sounds upsetting, forgive me. I’ve been enjoying the Primehouse burger for too long I forget it’s someone’s offspring I’m eating. There’s no changing the fact that the Primehouse is cheeseburger haven, though.

How delicious is their burger?

It’s the taste of a steakhouse trapped between buns.

It’s creamy, warm, creamy, and tender.

It’s bacon and all its smokiness dripping from a patty.

It’s happiness on mayonnaise.

It’s justice on pan-friend crispy shallots and garlicky spinach.

And it has my name on it, every lunchtime.

Going back to the question, is 40 a magic number? I’m not sure, but where one of my favorite burgers is concerned, 40 days on steak tastes like magic. You should take my word for it.

I, Sally, seeker of cheeseburger wonder, have spoken.

But a cheeseburger for a wedding cake?

That’s where I draw the line, folks. Sure, I love cheeseburgers. I could live on it if I have to. As a matter of fact, I’ve tried to. Once, while recovering from a bad breakup, I inhaled 10 cheeseburgers in 3 nights. All those cheeseburgers gone just like that — I say inhaled because those coronary delights disappeared so quick had I not felt so full I could barely lift an arm to wave, I would have dismissed those cheeseburgers as figments of my imagination. But I digress.

We were talking of weddings. And cheeseburgers for wedding cakes. And the fact that I’d rather grow whiskers than share the wedding limelight with a cheeseburger-turned-wedding cake. Because, believe it or not, two fastfood lovers got married, got themselves a cheeseburg-cake, and ended up taking backseat to their 42-pounder.

Meet Tom and Kerry Watts and their mammoth burger.

It took the butcher a whole day to make this giant, which weighed 400 ounces uncooked. Cooked, it did not get any lighter. It took three chefs to take it out of the oven.

Then again, does that really surprise anyone?

With 30 tomatoes, 12 iceberg lettuces, 48 dill pickle slices, 12 onions, a little of ketchup, 2 kilograms of cheese, and a litre of mayonnaise thrown in, this cheeseburger is heavier than an 8th grader (and you don’t lift 8th graders out of ovens)!

To add insult to the injury, the firefighter groom had this to say: “Not only did I get to marry the woman of my dreams but I also got to have the burger of my dreams in the same day.”

Well, Tom and Kerry, I hope a cheeseburger won’t do you part someday.