It is simultaneously a piece of art and a feat of engineering; many compartmentalized parts and one gastronomic being; a nutritionist's nightmare and a foodie's dream come true; the most powerful lunch you've ever had and the most absorbing late night meal you could imagine. It is also the ultimate conundrum for my inner fat girl.
The burger is near perfection. And from start to finish, the back of the house at Eleven pays acute attention to its every last detail. When you take that first bite, you can taste the care, concentration, and craft that have gone into each stage of its preparation.
The prep starts early in the morning. With Glen, the baker. When the last of the yinzer stallions are lumbering out of Mario's in the South Side at 2:30 AM, Glen is biking down Carson Street, over the 12th Street Bridge, through Downtown and into the Strip District. Just about a half an hour after the closing manager has diligently turned off every light in the restaurant and closed up shop, he opens it again - he turns on the lights in the eerily quiet space, and heads into his bakery.
He then beings a nocturnal baking frenzy - from 3:00 AM until the sun coaxes the scantily clad bar hoppers to begin their walks of shame, he mixes, kneads, proofs, bakes, and one would think rests here and there, but just when one step or one recipe is complete, he moves onto the next. In his artisan line-up every day are dozens of kaiser buns, topped with sesame seeds - fluffy, buttery, domed pieces of heaven. After pulling them out of the oven, Glen lines them up on baking sheets and lets them rest - lets them wait for their call to duty in the window of the bakery, their golden hides pompously ballooning in their air for all Smallman passerby to ogle.
As the buns are being lined up, the Executive Chef arrives to begin his daily culinary pursuits. He's a bit groggy. It seems like he was just there. It was a late night - the kitchen got backed up - he had to jump behind the line - the burn on his forearm is still fresh, sore. The flames are off though - the kitchen is quiet - and clean - it's a new day. Which means he needs new Daube and new bacon for his signature burgers.
The Daube takes a while so he starts with that first. It's a slow and low process - a magical melting and melding that turns a rough cut of veal shoulder into a stew of the most tender, succulent morsels of meat you've ever tasted. The bacon is made in house - Derrick does his own smoking and curing, so the slices that he needs for the burger are cut fresh daily.
One of the suppliers is at the back door - a local Pennsylvania dairy farmer who has a couple new cheeses that he wants Derrick to try. A Goat and a Cheddar. He makes a note for the manager to change the menu a bit - they will be perfect additions to the burgers today.
Derrick's team of cooks starts to arrive, and they begin staging and preparing for lunch - for the first burger orders of the day. They need to fry the onions, shape the patties, and mix the woozy butter. The sweet vidalia onions are thinly sliced and fried into crisp rings. The patty is pure Angus Beef. It doesn't try to be something else. It's proud of its farm fresh heritage - proud of its weight and heft and richness. The butter is injected with the masculine tastes of horseradish and Worcester and upon order, a dollop is added to each burger.
It takes all these parts - the eager bun who is tired of waiting, the juicy combination of veal and angus beef, two slices of house-made applewood smoked bacon, crispy onions, cheddar cheese, Heinz 57, lettuce, tomatoes, a careful cook who excels at games like Topple, an excellent server who won't crack under pressure, and your mouth, opened very wide.
In my dreams I have scarfed, inhaled, devoured this burger at least a hundred times. In reality, I have only taken one bite. Once. In the coat closet of Eleven. A mere taste of my friend Matt's shift meal - a taste that sparked drool and nearly a decade of day dreaming.
I took the recipe home with me and I made the whole masterpiece for Peter's birthday a couple years ago. My inner fat girl ate two of them, but the scared wannabe skinny girl who becomes a little too controlling, resisted and continued fantasizing.
But perhaps because it's the summer, or because I'm working on trayliners which will hold the nation's best selling burgers, or because my burger buffet dreams are getting a little too vivid, I've been craving burgers right and left recently. And I'm bound and determined to not only make one and nibble at it here and there, but to EAT IT!
On the Fourth of July I tried Andouille burgers - a blend of ground chuck, Andouille sausage, pecans and garlic. Peter grilled them and I topped them with carmelized onion, spicy mayo, watercress, and blue cheese and I put rainbow slaw on the side. I did make myself a smaller one, but I'm proud to say that I ate the whole thing. Bun, burger, and all. And I didn't gain any weight. And the boy who ate two of them right next to me, still wanted to marry me - burger brazened thighs and all.
Lo.
