As teeth sink into that first bite, hunger enhances sensation.
Delicate bun, perfectly browned on top, the tenderest crumb, and yet it doesn’t fall apart. How? I can taste the malt powder they use in the bake. Helps it get that perfect tan, and gives it a sweet, nutty flavor.
The patties are firm, almost tough, heavy with beef flavor and fat. They break apart into smaller and smaller pieces, blending, mellowing, but never disappearing.
Bright yellow cheese product, an American single, that slice directly out of childhood. It is the only cheese appropriate for this kind of burger. The only thing that will melt, and yet not split. It glues the paper to the sandwich, and the sandwich to itself.
Lettuce that used to be crisp, still more crisp than the foods it accompanies, comes dressed in the fast food melange: yellow mustard and generic bulk mayo. It likes to slip out the sides, no gods, no masters, ruled only by a quick mouth that sips fallen leaves from that cheesy paper wrapping.
And pickles. Those tangy sweet nuggets that bring it all together. They somehow hold their own against the salt and the fat and the sugar, staying crunchy despite their minute mince. There are spices in the vinegar, permeating the cucumbers, coriander and bay and sweet green summertime.
Creaminess, sweetness, nuttiness, meatiness, crispness, firmness, sourness, all in one overwhelming and yet humdrum familiar bite, the bite that is the Dick’s Deluxe.
Happy summer, my friends.