Look, I’ve got nothing against all-natural produce, but we can’t always just eat an organic pear. Sometimes we need something more. Sometimes we need savory as well as sweet. Sometimes we need throw caution to the wind and say, “Fuck it all: I’ll eat Cheerios and Lipitor the rest of this week if I must, but tonight I want to live!” Sometimes, dear readers, we need to eat a donut bacon cheeseburger, which is precisely what I did this weekend. Behold the epitome of gluttony and the pinnacle of modern culinary innovation, made by my own two hands:
Now, having actually had the high-calorie, fatty food food equivalent of a gang bang, I can tell you the following things about the donut bacon cheeseburger with great certainty:
- Despite allegations otherwise, the donut bacon cheeseburger is not a sign of the apocalypse. It is glorious.
- In fact, the donut bacon cheeseburger is so mind-blowingly scrumptious that I’d reckon this is the Harbinger of Deliciousness, a veritable Jesus Burger that has come from the heavens above to rid the world of size-zero pants and preach the gospel of elastic waistbands.
- My vision of Heaven is most likely the 9th circle of Hell for vegetarians. In certain fundamentalist vegan Christian circles, I am now the front runner for the Antichrist. I guess even the irresistible temptations of a donut bacon cheeseburger can’t win ’em all.
The rest of my experience is a bit more of a blur, so at this point we have to pause so you can decide if you want to take the donut bacon cheeseburger pill or the boring pill. How far down this culinary rabbit hole of batshit insanity and morbid obesity do you want to go? Oh, who am I kidding? Red pill it is!
Now the most important part of the donut bacon cheeseburger is the burger itself, which is why I am now telling you how to make Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s perfect homemade panfried hamburger. It’s quite simple, really. You start with about 1/3 lbs of ground beef, and then you season it with a few dashes each of seasoned salt, black pepper, garlic powder, thyme, and worcestershire sauce:
I also recommend pre-cooking the bacon in a frying pan and adding the cracklins left behind in the pan to your burger mixture as well. Why? Because you’re about to eat a bacon cheeseburger served between two donuts. You’ve obviously got a monster mouth as well, so you might as well just own it.
Anyways, at this point in time you should thoroughly–and I do mean thoroughly–mix your burger and form it into a plump hamburger patty. Jeanne Dielman knows what I’m talking about:
Now throw your burger into the same frying pan you cooked the bacon in and cook it at a medium-low to medium heat:
Seriously, just do it. There’s simply no point in attending the food orgy if you’re not going to slut it up.
ANYWAYS, once you’ve cooked your burger to your liking (I prefer medium rare), assemble your donut bacon cheeseburger, and put the whole thing in the microwave for 25 seconds. This way the cheese will be slightly melty and the donuts soft and warm. You’ll know you’re there when the whole thing kinda glistens in the light:
I suspect that the glistening is really just an indicator as to how much fat and grease is in this delectable gastronomic freak show, which basically means it’s a small miracle I’m still alive to write about this, but whatever. SHINY. And now, a bite:
JINKIES. Let’s get another look at that bite to really give you an idea as to what all has just gone into your mouth. AT THE SAME TIME:
Don’t be frightened of what’s just happened. Let Paula Deen explain to you the Three Stages of Donut Bacon Cheeseburgering:
At first you’re not really quite sure what the fuck just happened in your mouth. You recognize the distinct taste and texture of a juicy burger, emboldened by the savory accents of bacon and American cheese, yet contrasted by the sticky soft sweetness of a warm donut, but it doesn’t seem like it really just happened. Then you realize it did happen, and it was good. Like, really good. It’s the sort of good that shouldn’t exist but gives you belief in a higher power because it does. It’s the sort of good that makes you at peace with the fact that this sandwich will easily shave a day off your life, and that bite just cost you an hour. It’s also apparently the sort of good that immediately transforms you into an unstoppable force of blind consumption, which is the only explanation as to where all my sandwich went:
I mean, I know that I ate it because when I regained my senses I was furiously licking melted frosting and burger juice off my fingers, but I don’t actually much remember eating it. Mostly it was a haze of “THIS IS DELICIOUS” that was punctuated by a single “NEEDS MORE CHEESE” towards the end and then followed by a “NOM NOM NOM.” And if that’s about as much as I can clearly remember, then I obviously need to make the donut bacon cheeseburger again to really appreciate the experience. Preferably right now. After all, if I don’t remember it, the calories don’t count. At least I’m pretty sure how that works.
Oh, and let’s just be clear on one thing, y’all: I can quit whenever I want.