I’ve eaten my last cheeseburger.
Trust me, I’ve eaten my share of cheeseburgers, so it’s not like this is a little thing. This is a big thing for me. I love cheeseburgers.
I arrived at this No Burger decision this week. It’s because of a book.
I Didn’t Even Have a Last Meal
You know, I could have had a last meal. (Dead Burger Walking.) I didn’t. If I had, I would have eaten a Rouge Burger on Rittenhouse Square in Philadelphia. Second on my list would have been the Mickey Finn’s Bleu Cheeseburger in Libertyville, Illinois. A third choice would have been the most expensive burger I ever ate, which was the $29 burger I had at DB Bistro Moderne in New York City. (I tried to get the $50 burger that night, but sadly they were out of shaved white truffles.) But, I ate none of the above “just one last time”.
I Consider Myself a Burger Connoisseur
I’ve eaten three life’s worth of burgers. I used to say a long time ago that if I freakishly found myself on Death Row, a cheeseburger would be the feature item of my last meal. I’ve tried burgers at some of the best steak joints and gin joints in the world. I’ve had horse burgers in France, veggie burgers in Singapore, and buffalo burgers in Denver. I’ve eaten sliders by the bagful at White Castle in Chicago. I’ve had a Quarter Pounder with Cheese at Mickey D’s (Vincent Vega: You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in France? They call it a Royale with Cheese.); I’ve had it my way at Burger King (Frank and My Way go together like cheese and burger); and I’ve found the beef at Wendy’s (followed by a Frosty, of course.)
My mouth is watering as I write this. I’m wistful about the burger. I know all the words to Jimmy Buffett’s “Cheeseburger in Paradise.” I know that medium rare is the best way. Grilled bun. And I know that’s it. Fin. Finito. The end.
How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bombshell
No, not that kind of bombshell. I’m talking about the idea that I’m not going to eat any more burgers. Ever.
Here’s why I know I can do it. I’m not that disciplined when it comes to food, but Sheryl has gotten me to give up caffeine this year. A few years ago she weaned me off of sugary sodas. She moved me down from whole milk down to 1% (she can’t get me to skim…yet). It’s about my health. And I know I can do this. I “loved” all those things I gave up. And now I don’t miss them at all.
What made me change my mind? The Omnivore’s Dilemma.
Shelly suggested that I should read it a week ago. She said it changed her mind about eating and food. I bought the book the next day at Barnes & Noble on Rittenhouse Square. Little did I know that I bought a book that would knock me in the head, shake me by the lapels, and generally make me think. Heck, I don’t want to think when I’m reading — I want escapism. No luck.
Michael Pollan’s book is about industrialized farming, what’s changed in how we look at food in the last few decades, how we can get in balance with artisnal farming, and why eating burgers is just plain bad news.
The Omnivore’s Dilemma, defined, means that an omnivore can eat anything, but the risk of eating anything and everything is that we can eat bad things that pose real risks to our health. Like burgers that come from industrial farms where cows are fed corn that’s an unnatural part of their diet (cows are grass eaters), where cattle have to stand in a pile of their own feces, are supplemented with antibiotics and hormones to overcome overcrowding and lack of hybrid vigor, and it’s all on an industrial scale. That’s the formula for Frankie not feeling well.
The book is a modern day version of The Jungle, minus the yuck and ick. It’s more about how to think about food, its place, and how we can do better. (Pollan makes the point that food is sold as a commodity — we buy it by the pound rather than by the quality and impact it has in our lives.) I’m starting with burgers. I’m going to see if I can work my way completely off red meat, and then go farther. I’ll let you know.
If you want to read the story of what happens a cow that Michael Pollan buys and tracks through the system, read here. If you’re squeamish, don’t read it. Then again, if you are: Do. (That reminds me of a bumper sticker I saw: “I’m not a vegetarian because I care about animals, I’m a vegetarian because I hate vegetables.)
Just a quick note: I’m not going to be one of those people who smokes for 20 years, quits for a few days, and then harangues people about smoking. As I said, I like burgers. Really, I love burgers. I completely get it. This is about making a principled decision that will add a few days to my life some day when I’ll want them. How’s that for a bargain? My namesake, Ben Franklin, might have said, “A burger saved is a few years earned” or something like that. (Okay, I wasn’t named after Franklin. My middle name is Francis, but as they said in Stripes, “If anyone calls me Francis, I’ll kill em.”)
I’d like to meet Michael Pollan some day. I’d shake his hand and tell him that he ruined my (cheeseburger) life and saved it all at the same time. Bye-bye cheeseburger, old friend.
Photo credits: Rouge Burger by cathydahn and The Omnivore’s Dilemma on the author Michael Pollan’s site.
