Ode to Boss Hoggz

The red plastic, cross-hatched basket contained the hamburger of my dreams. A web of Tilamook Cheese spread out from the patty like a tutu and I had to pull it apart and eat the chewy, yet crispy, cheese ring before I could take a bite of the burger. Ahhh, the burger. A third of a pound of Alaska grown fresh ground meat, made into patties an hour ago and grilled to perfection under all of that cheese. It was topped with a sweet and spicy barbeque sauce, freshly battered fried onion ring and a tomato slice that I only encounter in my dreams this early in the year. As I went in for my first bite, I realized that my mouth wasn’t big enough to take on this monstrosity, so I swallowed hard, squeezed down on the fresh potato flour bun and forced my way in as juice dribbled down my chin and barbeque sauce spread its way past the corners of my mouth onto my cheeks. My mouth began to water. Another bite was imminent and the napkin would have to wait.