My cheeseburger was textbook. The thick, one-inch patty was seared and coated with cheese that clung like a wet suit. The interior, pink and inviting, oozed juices all over the wax-paper-covered waiter tray that ferried my burger to the table as if it were being presented to royalty. The burger was a tad underseasoned, but, given how much I loved it, my complaint carries all the authority of a film critic who claims “La La Land” would have been better if Ryan Gosling had worn better shoes. The only issue I had with the Paris burger and its ripe, runny Brie was that I couldn’t finish it all.”
Written by Tim Carman, who serves as the full-time writer for the Post’s Food section and as the $20 Diner for the Weekend section, a double duty that requires he ingest more calories than a draft horse.