Patty Melt

I get a great deal of my inspiration from my Facebook feed. At any given time, I can scroll past half a dozen recipes, all insanely appealing, all future inhabitants in my browser bookmark folder aptly titled FOOD, yes in all-caps, you KNOW it's in all caps, dude. I've began printing out my favorites and saving them in a dedicated three-ring binder, stuffed with page protectors so my pages don't tear from ingredients or bleed the ink away, which is what usually happens when i hastily scrawl the basics of a recipe on a grid piece of paper and leave it on my prep counter. It's gross, better just to write it once and save it. Or print it, in this case.

I didn't print this one as I scrolled by it, though. Didn't even jot notes down. Patty melt, so what? I wore a bright-red bowtie and ugly ass stiff black apron when I worked on either sides of the counter at Steak n Shake in my late teens and into my early 20s. The paper hats. The plastic gloves. The ugly work safe shoes. The cumbersome waist-clip headset on overnight shifts, or the pockets overflowing with pens and straws and sometimes ice, so i'd have to stop and dump everything out so my tips and server pad wouldn't soak through. I don't miss it. That's where I first heard of a patty melt. Back then, to me it was just a gross ass sandwich older folks bought. It was a double with american on rye with pickles and mustard and carmelized onions. No thanks, buddy. Not nearly as popular (or as delicious) as the Frisco Melt, a double with swiss and american on sourdough with lettuce, tomato and thousand island on the side.

We moved more two ounce black plastic portion cups of that neon orange sauce than we did fries, I say this without exaggeration. Those skinny fries dipped in thousand island? Forget about it! I found a recipe  for the stuff, in case you want to unironically make yourself a gallon batch of it, and slather it to literally everything. Like reubens! Or, realistically, frozen bag fries, you disgraceful sack of human garbage. Set your kitchen of fire. But first, be sure to mention it on your medical history forms when you check into the hospital for heart failure. There should be a field for that right there on the form.

So I was never very impressed with the sandwich, myself. I assumed they were a restaurant-specific thing, like the Frisco, as I didn't hit up many burger shacks at the time and didn't think to look it up in my free time. It's a freaking PATTY MELT, who caaaares!

I remember it being mentioned in a rap song way back in the day, and I cannot for the life of me find the song by googling "car full of white women," the hook, the only part of the song I can remember except for the line, "take em to Waffle House, I need a paaaaatty  melt." I didn't know Waffle House sold patty melts!

I've only ever ordered their hashbrowns all the way, after stumbling into a booth after 2am drunk as fuck with my crew after bar close. I'd use the bathroom (you always gotta pee like crazy at that time of night in that condition, never freaking fails), take my heels off, stick my legs across to the other booth/lap, light up a menthol and order black coffee and iced water and a plate of this with well-done spuds and white gravy on top, eyeing the tableside condiments for ample napkins and a bottle of pickled pepper sauce as the waitress jotted down my order. Holy shit, what a plate of god-awesome.

I like to fold it all over on itself with a fork, soak it in black pepper and hot sauce and eat until my freaking heart stops, stopping only to sip my water or hold up my cup for a refill (waffle house coffee forever, dude, not even kidding, fresh ground for the win). I usually have enough to take home with me, but it's not really edible once you sober up. You become acutely aware that your one-true-drunken-love looks like vomit in the sunlight. I mean that honestly, it looks like someone held their head over a styrofoam clamshell and retched into it, but with less liquid.

Now that I'm older, I don't play the wait-in-public restaurant game as often as I used to, unless there's a bunch of us or I don't wanna stop chatting with the person and can't relocate to a more private environment (with a television and a bed/sofa/floor) for the evening. I'd much rather take a drunken walk through Walmart, delegating a cart pusher as I wander inebriated through the aisles in an attempt to perceive my wasted cravings non-intellectually, relying mainly on my peripheral vision at this point and vain attempts to cue soberer memories of foods that won't put me at risk of burning my goddamn house down in a liquored wave of edible intentions.

One of these days, I'll try making the Garbage Plate, another hashbrowns all-the-way idea that's supposed to be out of this world. Late-night hash forever, man.

Why would I make such a boring, plain ass sandwich like this here patty melt, you ask yourself? It all comes back to the Facebook, I guess, when I saw this photo alonside this patty melt recipe:

Sweet Steak-Patty Virgin Mary, look at that oozing thing. It's borderline pornographic! I almost had to turn away! "Culinerotica," my homie called it once. Mmm, buddy, what a dirty, sassy little burger.

Speaking of Dirty Burgers, I am absolutely obsessed with Trailer Park Boys. It's been on of my favorite shows since I first saw it all those years ago. Think Cops from a criminal's perspective. In one of the later seasons, two of the actors, notorious for cheeseburger eating and big, sweaty guts, partner up in an RV restaurant called The Dirty Burger. It's pretty much just two sweaty fat guys grilling burgers and screaming at each other, what's not to love? I always wanted a food truck, or a restaurant or catering business, to be totally honest. Not practically, it was little more than an idle fantasy of mine, but I often wonder about it, logistics aside, what it'd be like to own my own food shack, make my own menus and recipes and price it all out, etc. I'd have a cafe-bookstore, with zines and buttons and tea and take out options and a stage for poetry and rap battles and small batch beers or whatever. It's fun to think about. My daughter's in on the dream, too! Feels good to fantasize about food.

Thinking about patty melts and dirty burgers and Steak n Shake reminded me of Winstead's, this KC-based steakburger and milkshake restaurant with tissue paper-wrapped cheeseburgers and butterscotch milkshakes. I used to eat there as a kid in KC, and thought of them out of nowhere as I was writing this. Freaking Winstead's! I'm in half a mind to take a road trip up there one of these days, purely for tissue paper cheeseburgers and butterscotch milkshakes. I'd get a hotel room with a swimming pool on the roof, or something. A motel 6, more than likely. Bet I could get a good deal on one that the methy transients can't afford, though? Beats debating the cleanliness of my bedspread and turning up crackled Law and Order reruns on local stations to drown up the domestic noise all around me. I could go to that Barnes and Noble on the Plaza that I used to walk to with my sisters from our apartment just up the street. I could go to the Nelson-Atkins and see the choice exhibitions again. There's not too much nostalgia attached to that city for me, save for the gallery and bookstore and Winstead's, I suppose. Still, might be worth the trip? What's wrong with a little impulsive travel, as long as it's affordable?

The patty melt was the easiest thing ever to execute: slice two onions thin and sautee them in butter or oil for a half hour or so, until they're brown and gooey. Mix a pound of beef with ketchup and garlic+onion powder, salt and pepper. Quarter and press thin, like the size of the rye bread you're using, and grill for a couple minutes on each side. Place sharp cheddar on the bread, then the burger, and top with onions and swiss. Cover with the second bun, and paint the outside of it with mayo. I used my kewpie japanese mayo, but you can use whatever's in your fridge. Yes mayo, stop being such a puss canoe and swipe a big ole glob of the white stuff right on there. Clean the pan or use a new one, lower the heat and put the sandwich on there, mayo-side down. Press it down with a weighted pan, cook a couple minutes until the bun is brown, then mayo the other side, flip and press. Cut lengthwise and serve with pickles and mustard. I had neither, sriracha was all I needed to scarf this sucker down in under two seconds.

I was so wrong about you, patty melt, from the bottom of my heart, I apologize. Will definitely be making again, eventually, when I spring for ground beef again, which I do not do often, as it is expensive and I usually don't do burgers for dinner. Very happy I did, though. Holy cow, that oozing cheese, those onions, that meat, the mayo, amazing. Definitely try this one, takes two seconds and is obscenely delicious for how simple the ingredients are.