Hamburger Mary's on Santa Monica and N Sweetzer Ave, LOS ANGELES
Hello blog universe! I haven't updated this thing in, well, my God, over 4 years. I have been eating out alone, I promise you. I have no good excuses for my absence, really. Luckily no one reads this thing, so my apologies are like wisps of wind curling around a dead cactus in the middle of the Mojave.
Today, a Tuesday, I found myself in West Hollywood. I moved to Los Angeles a few months back. Well, I'm "splitting time" between LA and New York. I'm bi-coastal. I'm important. No, the reality of the matter is, if I'm going to luxuriate in this perpetually under-employed lifestyle, I'd rather do it in shortpants in February.
Today, a Tuesday, I was finished at the gym with a nebulous period of freedom and a hankering for something to spoil the fruits of my workout. A burger and some fries. America.
I had heard about Hamburger Mary's because I like drag queens and sometimes drag queens do things there. Like Drag Bingo. Which is a thing people do. I don't judge, because I don't know me at age 80. Today at 1:45pm, no drag queens were in sight when I walked in. Which was a relief, because I only had 50 minutes on the meter. Food and go. In and out. This was my plan.
There were only a few other tables with people at them, and one muscly dude in a tank top painting black stripes along the interior restaurant wall. An equally muscly waiter in shortpants said, "Anywhere you like, doll." I blushed as I found a hightop table and a chair with back support.
"First time here?" he sidled up beside me. "Uh yeah, just moved from Brooklyn," I stammered. I'm not used to any sort of Hooters-style attention, especially before 2pm. He recommended a burger, the spicy one. I ordered in medium-rare, and while I waited I read a few chapters of the current book on etiquette I have on loan from the library.
Nothing like sitting in a mostly empty, gay-themed restaurant, waiting for a burger, while reading a book on etiquette, 8 hours before the drag queens arrive, amirite?
The spicy burger came, and it wasn't half bad. To drink I stuck with water, even though technically, by the time the burger arrived it was 5pm in New York. I guess I'm not really bi-coastal.
The burger came with a white sauce which I assume is ranch, because since leaving New York, I discovered that aside from oil, America's most important natural resource is ranch dressing.
I weep for this county.
But before the tears dried on my cheek, I definitely dipped that burger in that Motherf*cking Ranch.
The bill was 18 dollars, because this is Los Angeles, and like New York, 18 dollars is not a criminal amount to charge for a hamburger. I left an even 20% and grabbed my things before the waiter could flirt with me again (though his sweetness was appreciated).
Another meal, enjoyed alone.
