burger week

Day One: A Bittersweet Burger Symphony

Day One: A Bittersweet Burger Symphony

I know that all of my Portland burger friends wake to the sweet smell of meats and food creativity. I wake in what can only be poetically described by the Verve’s cherished hit from 1997: it’s a bittersweet symphony, this life. 


I’m trying to fit a square peg into the round hole of my intestines. I have insurmountable doubt  San Francisco will live up to Portland Burger Week. My hopes are low, my cholesterol high. Yet, against all odds, I must push forward. If not me educating on the sacred teachings of Burger, then who? 

DAY SIX: THE GRAND FINALE

DAY SIX: THE GRAND FINALE

Today is the last day of Burger Week and my sentiments can only be described as bittersweet. Unlike the previous Burger Weeks, this is the first time that I don’t feel like I’m dying. Perhaps I’ve become a seasoned pro, or maybe it’s my new Burger Week morning ritual of starting the day with a probiotic gut shot and ginger tea. Whatever it may be, I feel a tinge of sadness that it’s ending. Or maybe that’s just heartburn.