Burgers!

Alas, burgers. If you're tired of these posts always being about dogs and food, let me suggest that you stop here and perhaps wait until next week’s post.

Last weekend was the long-promised burger cookout. I don’t remember the last time people had so much fun at a party, and I’ve been to literally tens of parties in over three countries.

The gathering was graciously hosted by the indispensable Virka, who in addition to being preternaturally attuned to the rhythms of the charcoal grill was also kind enough to have rented an apartment with a balcony, therefore allowing this whole thing to go down:



Slovaks are not really into BBQ'ing (perhaps for good reason), and they're really not into burgers, as their main exposure to the patties has been at the overpriced Mc'D's. I thought that if I gave them something thick, juicy, and slathered in BBQ sauce, I could sway them to our side.

The first thing I needed was a grill, which I scored on the cheap from the local supermarketstore:



They didn't have any lighter fluid, but the salesperson sold me on the "Firebrand Gel", which seemed to come from a government napalm-decommissioning program:



The next ingredient, which is crucial to my family's burger recipe, is the meat. I found these in the back of the cooler at the local food emporium:



This is in fact ground beef, in the sense that it is part of a cow which has been ground up. One minor difference between Slovak and American ground beef is that Slovaks are hearty enough that it isn't necessary to remove the little chips of bone that you inevitably find in a cow. This can be a shock during your first bite of the burger, but it's nothing an oral surgeon can't fix. The verdict on the meat:



Also, in a fit of jingoism, I proposed putting these nifty flags in the burgers, mostly because Mom bought them for me, and it's a burger. I was swiftly overruled by basically everyone at the gathering, which may have something to do with current U.S. foreign policy:



And don't forget the BBQ sauce, which I had to smuggle in my pants through E.U. customs. I am not a big K.C. Masterpiece fan, but the locals just loved it:



Some other important things to note which I didn't get a picture of:

1. I couldn't find any hamburger buns, because the one store in town that has them was sold out, so I had to use slices of dark rye bread.

2. Using a BBQ on the balcony of a Slovak high-rise is not "prohibited", but seems to break numerous social norms, because the Slovaks in attendance were shocked that the neighbors never busted down the door while brandishing a blade.

3. My "Ranch Dressing Theory", which draws heavily from Francis Fukuyama's essay "The End of History", seemed to be proven true. The theory is that people of all cultures, no matter what their tastes in cuisine, would love ranch dressing if they just had a chance to try it. I brought two packets of the mix from the states, and after a cup of mayo and milk the stuff was served. As of today I have received three separate e-mails asking me how this magical sauce is made.

I am sensitive to people's needs, so there was a salad for the vegetarians:



So who showed up? Well, the Germans were nice enough to arrive first:



There was J.C. from FR, whom I believe had two burgers:



My favorite dog in the city, Lucky, also appeared, looking for raw meat:



Check the snout!



My neighbor's friend M arrived, and promptly did a very Slovak thing by insisting on doing all of the dishes, in the middle of the party:



Fun was had, that's for sure:



Later in the night I offered to make chocolate chip cookies, because I thought it would be another possible thing to stick my little flags in. They don't sell chocolate chips here, so I made some myself:



While I was out on the balcony making sure that the Firebrand Gel hadn't ignited the side of the building, someone, or perhaps many someones, ate the faux-chocolate chips, bringing that chapter of the fun to an end. However, cornflake cookies were quickly suggested, and we all got to work. The first batch was a little burnt:



But then we got the hang of it:



No one liked the cookies but me, and I was accused of being either insincere or out of touch with my own taste buds. Still, I enjoyed them, and can send you the recipe if you're curious.

I need to stop writing about food, I feel like I am typecasting myself.

And I have no idea what else to take pictures of.