My legs are not this long, it's the angle of my cheval mirror
Croon it: 'Blue jean baby, LA lady, seamstress for the band' - remember those flares I was binning a few months back? Well I stuffed them back in my wardrobe and in one of those rare, God, I love my ripply hair today, it's 1972, I'm living in Topanga Canyon and I'm going out with a guy called Tom Petty tonight, he says he's in a band, moments - I fished them out,
flared it up and went out on the town.
To dinner no less.
Constant Readers will know that I'm not one for fine dining. For me a formica counter top will always trump silver service.
I headed west to Glasgow on my ideal dinner date.
I bow to the great American burger wherever he finds safe home.
If it's amid subterranean Stygian gloom all the better.
I knew it was a match made in heaven when they sat down a roll of paper towel and a tin can of knives on the table. No plates. I rubbed my eyes, I must truly be in hog heaven.
Just in case you were thinking of ordering the seared tofu, Burger Meats Bun indicates its culinary style using subtle semiotics.
(I was the only adult to start fiddling with the animals - I loved Fuzzy Felt Farm.)
An Old Fashioned whetted my appetite.
Did I ever tell you that I played the burger in the school orchestra?
I've been to Johnny Rockets, In-Out-Burger, Meat liquor, Burger & Lobster, White Castle, Father's Office, Fatburger, Umami Burger but Burger Meats Bun was a pleasure of the flesh which I will never forget and cannot wait to repeat. "The Fiery" was a spurting symphony of toma raschera, jalapenos, chipotle mayo and a hunk of Scotch beef cradled in a brioche bun.
A cumulus nimbus of paper towel brought down the curtain; my work here is done.