Warning: This column is going to make you hungry

I’m sitting here wondering what to write for the week’s column and trying to ignore my stomach which is industriously trying to digest my spine. My innards are winning the battle for my attention. What they want is a cheeseburger.

I’m not talking about just any run of the mill fast food burger. Nossir. My various internal organs are screaming for a real cheeseburger.

Start with a half pound of top ground with some smoked bacon ground into the meat as well. Slow cook this very thick patty of meat on a grill fired up with pecan logs and let that smoke penetrate the meat. Cook it until the pink just vanishes in the middle. Cook it so it’s still juicy, the kind of burger when you bite down, you need a table cloth around your neck. Put some more bacon on the top of the meat.

Some folks don’t like mushrooms, but I do. I want a coating of broiled ‘shrooms, fresh ‘shrooms pan fried on the stove in real butter. Just enough to cover one slice of cheese to a depth of one ‘shroom slice. Make ’em still hot so the cheese melts into the burger and ‘shrooms.

Since this is a cheeseburger, gotta have some cheese. Real cheese. Don’t want none of that pasteurized, processed, homogenized, filtered and flavored junk that tastes about the same as the plastic wrapper it comes in. Nope. Gimme a thick slice of extra sharp cheddar on one side and a slice of pepper jack on the other. Make sure the cheese hits the burger in time to start melting.

As for the bun, I want real bread. Not some refined flour, enriched, mass baked, cut by a machine bread. No. Gimme one of my late Momma In Law’s sourdough hamburger buns kneaded by hand and baked to a just right golden brown, pulled out of the oven still steaming hot and sliced open as it waits for the meat.

Gently lay some ketchup, not catsup, on one bun. Gently now. Too much spoils things. Because this is my burger, I’m gonna dash some hot sauce on the ketchup, but I’ll leave it off yours. On the other bun some spicy brown Wisconsin bratwurst style mustard, the kind of mustard with zip. No mayonnaise. Mayo on a work of art like this is just, well, it borders on offensive, unless it is homemade mayo in which case, a gentle swoosh of a butterknife’s worth is entirely appropriate.

Must have onion. Not just any onion. A giant ultra sweet Vidalia onion cut nearly as thick as the hamburger patty.

A big slice of real South Georgia, not Florida hothouse, beefsteak tomato. The kind rich with that acid so that it almost bites you back. The juicy tomato that is good enough to be on a sandwich by itself. Put this on the side opposite the ‘shrooms.

Since this is my cheeseburger, I want fresh, cold lettuce. I mean right from the field fresh, so crisp it crunches. The kind of lettuce that if you put it in a salad, salad dressing refuses to leave the bottle for fear of ruining something that looks perfect. Two leaves worth, please. Then put it on the tomato so the lettuce is between the burger and the tomato.

Lots of people like dill pickles. I don’t and this is my cheeseburger, so I’m leaving them off. If you want some, then go to Grandma’s house and reach way back in the cabinet to get her homemade dill pickles made from cucumbers grown on the family farm about a mile from her house. Slice it long ways so you get three slices off one pickle. Lay them wherever you want.

Gently lift one of the buns and lay it atop the other, creating a masterpiece of culinary delight. The occasional wisp of steam rises from a sight that would make Jimmy Buffett agree to leave the Florida Keys if he could have one.

Fries on the side of course. Myself, I like new potato fries. Cooked in hot peanut oil and lightly salted and piled high on the plate.

To the side a huge glass of sweet tea, made with sugar not some other kind of sweetener. Good dark and rich tea and sweetened so that a diabetic could drink it, but would be extremely nervous about it.

Arg. I’m going to find something to eat.