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Best Veggie Burger Ever

Just the other day, I decided to try one of those new fancy burger joints. You know the kind of place. It’s a burger, but it’s gourmet, because they use Dijon mustard instead of the classic yellow. Also, they don’t just serve regular french fries. They serve sweet-potato fries, as if they were the first ones to come up with the idea (note: sweet potato fries have become so commonplace, I’m surprised McDonald’s isn’t selling them).

Anyhow, those of you who know me might be wondering what the hell I was doing at a burger joint. After all, I only eat fish (a diet stupidly coined “pescatarian,” thanks to the idiots at Merriam-Webster). Well, it turns out, this place was also known for its incredibly tasty veggie burger. So, of course, I had to try it.

My colleagues and I entered the establishment and admired the hip, industrial-style exposed ceilings and oddly contrasting 1950s-style furnishings. We waited a mere 15 minutes to be seated and before too long, we were asked for our order. My coworkers chose to build their own burger, since that was what this place was famous for. I, of course, went for the veggie burger.

In a matter of minutes (20, to be exact), my meal arrived. The burger was presented in a whole-wheat bun and topped with sprouts, because vegetarians love sprouts. I picked it up and eagerly took a bite. Wow. It was amazing. Bursting with flavour. It was so juicy. So delicious. I couldn’t quite place all the tastes I was experiencing. Onion. There was definitely onion. Smoked peppers. And… hm. I was stumped. I mean, it tasted familiar, but foreign at the same time. Maybe it was some kind of grain or something. Whatever it was, it was delicious and I had to have more.

When the waiter dropped by to ask how our meals were, I didn’t hesitate to speak, even with my mouth completely full:

“Terrific!” I said, accidentally spiting out some whole-wheat bread crumbs onto my coworker’s plate. “Best damn veggie burger I’ve ever had.”

“That’s great. Glad to hear it. We get that a lot.”

“I bet you do. So tell me, what do you put in this thing?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that. It’s a well-guarded secret.”

“No, I don’t want to know the exact recipe. I just want to get an idea of what I’m eating.”

“Oh, well, it’s not the ingredients that count as much as the love we put into making each meal.”

“Do they tell you to say that?”

“…Yes.”

“C’mon, just tell me what goes into this thing. It’s amazing.”

“OK, OK, it’s nothing special. Just your typical spices, some fresh corn, a little tomato, Grade A beef, onion, a little celery, I think. Stuff like that.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound like… wait a minute. Did you say beef?

“No. I said Grade A Beef. Nothing but the best.”

At this moment, I spat out what I’d been chewing, and continued to spit.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“Ptuh! Uh, yeah! You’re putting dead cow in my vegetarian burger! Bleh!”

“Vegetarian burger? We don’t have a vegetarian burger. We have a veggie burger. Big difference.”

“Are you pulling my chain?”

“Is that some kind of sexual innuendo? No, Sir, I am not pulling your chain. We take great pride in our veggie burger. What kind of business does a vegetarian have at a burger joint anyway? If you wanted something without meat, you should have ordered the grilled cheese.”

“You have got to be kidding me. You’re calling it a veggie burger because you stuff vegetables into a burger patty?”

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“We also soak the patty in bacon fat before frying.”

And that, my good friends, is when I literally lost my lunch. The end.

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