Reader, the path of an esthete is paved with more than glittering shards of Moët leading upward, skyward, heavenward, to the ether of sensual and gustatory delights. There comes a time when we must face the darker side of life, Reader: the recycling bin, glimmering with the lost hopes of a thousand would-be can collectors. The bathroom floor, flecked with soap scum. The lower classes.
Today’s recipe does not shy away from the rot, from the filth, from that which crawls on its belly and eats dust. Did you catch my Genesis 3:14 reference, Reader? Today’s recipe eyes the mist-hued curtain of the universe and screams, “Wrench it aside! Show me the world as it really is—groaning and nascent, full of Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis and death.”
Reader, I give you: the Vomburger.
Do not be afraid when you read my first step, which is “Kill a cow.” Blood is meant to stain the hands, Reader. The world is menstrauting and you are the silken vessel designed to catch its placenta. I am mixing my metaphors on purpose, Reader, to emphasize the CHAOS OF THE UNIVERSE. Darkness and grief. Beauty of the stomach, lashing the eyes of the innocent. Catch me, Reader, for I feel faint…
- Kill a cow. (Use the finest stainless steel saber available in your price range.)
- Wrench the meat from its bones with your teeth.
- Maw, Reader, maw! But do not swallow. Spit, Reader, spit! Spit the blood and gristle and muscle into a bowl carved from purest alabaster.
- Mix an assortment of seasonings into the fresh-ground beef. I adore rosemary.
- Using only the elongated muscles of your lower back, form the ground beef into patties. The patties may bear the imprint of your spine. Simply remember that spines are a universal gift, Reader. Ah, the glory of the endoskeleton!
- Start a fire with two sticks of the purest pinewood and the bones of the homeless.
- Cook the burgers until the insides are the raw pink of a heart that has not yet learned to love. Allow a salt tear to season the middle of each patty.
- Garnish with the toppings of your choice, such as sackcloth, ashes, food stamps, and words that do not sing with the tongues of ten thousand doves.