It took an embarrassing amount of veggie burger consumption to realize that I could actually make my own.
For years, the term “veggie burger” brought to mind a flat, dingy-brown frozen patty. Sure, it became edible once thrown in my George Foreman grill (hey, college), but I considered it nothing more than a quick protein source and a vehicle for condiments.
It’s important to note that this was during a time when I would dip my tomato slices in ketchup, and then scoop up any leftover ketchup with a spoon, sometimes swirling it in the adjacent yellow mustard. I had a condiment problem.
Happy first week of summer! It’s not official, but after this past weekend it might as well be. I spent 4 days relaxing, walking my dog around various lakes, drinking beer in the sunshine, and starting to get a little tan (which really just means extra freckles, but still).
In elementary school, my best friend and I went through a phase where we pretended we had a cooking show, and my dear mom would record us making things like boxed brownies and cakes. I’d like to say this was cute of us, but to give you a visual, I believe I was in the midst of my overly-curled thick bangs, crooked pre-braces teeth, and screen-printed animal t-shirt phases. Adolescence went well for me.
My family has the tendency to tell stories over and over and over again. Perhaps this is how everyone’s family is? I kind of hope so.
