I promise I’m not turning into yet another food blogger.
That said, two days ago, I got a text message from my boyfriend while I was at work. He had an idea in his head for some amazing burgers, and wanted me to bake buns.
So I did. I found a recipe that most of the interwebs loved, and baked burger buns. Of course, I didn’t follow it properly (the texture was wrong after the first hour rise; I did the eggbath and sesame seeds before the second rise, then only let them sit for 40 minutes instead of a full second hour), but they still came out fantastic, because I have baker’s instincts:
And he made burgers: he loaded the giant 9-cup food processor with garlic cloves and sun-dried tomatoes, and fresh rosemary, and other assorted delicious things. Then he added some fresh chicken breasts and pulsed it all up and shaped it into patties. They were amazingly yummy. When I pulled out my camera, though, he modestly insisted that the burgers weren’t “food-porn-worthy.” Judge for yourselves:
Then, last night, as if to make up for this first attempt, he went out grocery shopping alone. He came back with, among other things, over a pound of sushi-grade tuna. This burger contained fresh ginger and green onions. The buns were toasted and spread with a homemade wasabi aioli. The most gorgeous avocado I think I’ve ever seen, including in California. Seaweed salad, which we scooped up on tahini-sesame rice crackers, over baby greens.
Look how gorgeous that tuna is!
(the bun’s not terribly shabby, either)
Now he’s talking about more burgers: buffalo meat, ostrich, kobe beef, wild games. A Savenor’s run this weekend.
