This past July, we gathered together to celebrate three years of Burger Club in the only way we know how - by descending like horde of meaty Mongols upon the place that started it all: Whitman's East Village, for the annual Feast of the Immaculate Conception.
Much like your middle school English class essay on Leaves of Grass, Whitman's remains a steadfast bastion of excellence during these dark times of uncertainty. While the vast and experimental menu will always leave some people wanting, the fact remains that they make a damn fine burger - unpretentious and moderately-sized, but made with love and packed to the gills with flavor.
The sides were a touch more divisive - while personally I love the blue cheese fries, others found the cheese spread looked "like a cat threw up on my fries." Others found the fries overcooked, undersalted or lukewarm. One member complained of the Brussels Sprouts he ordered, before being promptly banished from the club for ordering Brussels Sprouts.
The ambiance remains a triumph of East Village charm - 90s bar mitzvah music, cheery and characterful staff, and fine literature dotting the walls. And the fact that they not only gave us a great prix fixe deal to begin with, but also comped us numerous beers AND gave us fresh cookies and milk to finish, was simply a class act.
I'm also proud to report that my "Andrew as a Person" rating reached an all-time high of 4.22 out of 10! I was praised for my burger pin (by the person who gave it to me), my acceptable welcome speech, and for dressing "extra-Andrew." Justice nevertheless still being blind, I was also chastised for my "gellin' Don Jr. hairstyle," not having Fay with me, and for my "unglamorous and frankly reviling attempt at resembling a human" (ouch). Still, pretty psyched about my personal best here...