The TV ads hype the primal sandwich doused with whatever and a mile-high topping of French fries, bacon, avocados, cheese, pasta, sweet onions, tomatoes and chips. It is sometimes fitted with seedy grains, veggies, quinoa and I don't know what else.
I grew up with a steady Sunday diet of raw kibbee, ground meat patties that my mother proudly served with olive oil and onions. It was a prized entree that some queesy witnesses warned would lead to death from tapeworms by age 25. Still, I can't stomach the commercial trickery that buries the pretentious burgers of today.
So I must live with my memory of lunches at Ray's modest grill in La Porte, Ind. I worked there in my first newspaper job. Ray's hamburgers were pressed on a sizzling (greasy?) grill that formed a crispy coat on both sides. For that exquisite treat plus a large soda and Ray's boysenberry pie, the tab was less than a dollar, which is all I had in my pocket anyway. And I could fully savor the meat with every bite.
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