At this diamond in the rough in the notoriously boring and upitty Murray Hill district, you’ll find hotel bar ambiance and an upscale, anytown USA decor that is both welcoming and classy. The menu is outstanding with a wide variety of burger combinations and a steak option for the financial set (there’s even a tuna option for the “other” set). The burger that I had - the M&M Burger - is an instant classic: cheddar, apple bacon, and delicious onions. I went medium rare and it was cooked to a beefy perfection. The tasting basket of fries (3 kinds - straight up awesome, sweet potato, and waffle cuts) made Belgian frites look like bleached dookie and the onion rings were among the best I have ever had. Be sure to taste the frickles (I won’t even tell you what they are because they are just that crazy) and if you are visiting in the summer, go nuts and eat on the roof. Please do yourself a favor and grab one of these burgers before it grabs you (then holds you down while one of his burger buddies _____ you in the ___).
3 out of 4 sticks of butter.
Hey man, I see you over there and, trust me, you look wasted. That is awesome and all, but I can tell by your shit-eating grin and zig-zag stumble that reeks of jello shots and medium-strength weed, that you are reaching your limit and don’t need to be hovering around the bar in search of even more sweet, sweet alcohol. Oh boy, there you go. Yup, now you’re talking to my pal, trying to make a new friend. You see, the thing is, I’m here with my friends too, and we’re not really discussing the show or reaching out to others to find out how good a time they are having. Hold on there, fella. Now you’re angry. Don’t be upset. No, really. Listen. Trust me. My friend (the one right next to me that you are so successfully annoying the shit out of) isn’t upset either; he just wants you to fuck off. You can talk to your pals (they seem to be operating on a compatible frequency), but you should avoid trying to network at any show, let alone a show at which you are clearly losing your mind. Oh no, now you’re asking him if he’s mad. “Oh, you’re mad at me now,” you say. No one is mad at you, bro. Trust me, we’ve all dealt with simpletons before, we’re going to be fine and everything is cool. It would just be a whole lot cooler if you would just get the… oh fuck it, get over here you old so-and-so. We’ll be your new best buds. Who wants a shot?
I was just wondering if this is your first concert? I’m asking you this because it sure seems like it. You are flailing around taking up more than your fair share of space, but you really don’t appear to mind. (That’s a problem.) You’re having a great time and so is your precious little lady friend, but the people around you (myself included) are rolling their eyes and mocking your 1989 hip hop moves and the look on your face that (no offense) can only be described as pure, unadulterated “dumbfuck.” I am thinking about jingling my keys or throwing an old soup bone to see if I can get you to move from my area so that a.) I no longer have to put up with your bumping into me (I don’t care what you heard, I absolutely did not order a lapdance) and b.) can focus on the show instead of trying to figure out how many different head injuries you experienced growing up in Long Island or New Jersey or wherever folks like you are bred. I highly encourage everyone (even you) to get excited about the music, enjoy the show, and by all means, celebrate life on every possible level. I just wish you would do it somewhere else. Lastly, check out your moves in the mirror or get some feedback from your friends. I know you’re drunk (so am I, that’s not the issue), but that’s no excuse for being an asshole.
