The bf and I were out to dinner with my parents last night, and when it was my turn to order, I still wasn't sure what I wanted. Feeling the pressure, I blurted out, "I'll have the fried cheeseburger, please," relying upon the sole menu offering that both intrigued and repelled me enough to stick out in my mind.
Now, to be clear, the burger itself wasn't fried, just the hunk of provolone cheese on top. (See that huge, gravy-covered thing that looks like a breaded chicken breast? That's the cheese.) The sandwich also boasted mushrooms, although I couldn't taste them, drowned out as they were by the meat and provolone.
In the end, I cut the burger down the middle and gave half to the bf - no easy task, as gravy and cheese came cascading down onto my brand-new jeans. In return, he gave me half of his crabmeat-topped burger, which was admittedly better, partly because it was well-done, as mine should have been. (I have a distate for even slightly pink hamburger and was guilty of whining, "Is this okay to eat?" several times during the meal. But that's another rant for another post.)
Was the fried cheeseburger all I'd hoped it would be? No, it was not. But I'm glad that I broadened my horizons by sampling it. Maybe at some point I'll muster the nerve to try a fried Twinkie.