This is where things get weird. Where we do away with tradition. Where we dispense with the numerical system and break out into words. Or better, into song. Because the Pearl’s Cheeseburger is an ode to another time and another story: that of how an abandoned shopping strip became our stationary suburban clime, and how it’s first stand alone burger was to write its own rhyme.
Here’s what we did. We finely diced white onions. We sliced McClure’s pickles. We drizzled them with ketchup and we tickled them with mustard. We dropped beef on top and we crowned the lot with cheese. Gooey, American, processed cheese. Then we called it Pearl’s Cheeseburger – in honour of the diner it served, the food truck it evolved from, and the style of sugar that sweetened our housemade waffles.
This, a product of history, could be no #3. But it could be beautiful. A beautiful, cheesy symphony. This burger soars.