In-N-Out

People in California swear by In-N-Out Burgers. No, I don’t mean that as a figure of speech. They literally swear by those burgers. If you go to court in California, you will be asked to place your hand on an In-N-Out burger and swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but, so help you God. Perjurers are punished by being scalded alive in giant grease traps. Naturally, I had to try these magic burgers. I have never been a burger man myself, but hey, food is food. That’s the sort of reasoning that once led me to eat an entire large pizza all by myself.

There was an In-N-Out Burgery (not to be confused with In-N-Out Buggery, which is a whole different story) just down the street from University Village, so, naturally, we had to try it. We stopped in there yesterday evening in pursuit of the perfect burger. I ordered my usual—cheeseburger with a side of fries. In-N-Out boasts a “secret menu”; that is, you say the magic words (“Extra Onion” or “Animal Style” something like that) and get a little something extra, free of charge. I didn’t try it. I worried I would say the wrong thing and end up with sliced sheep intestine on my burger.

I’ll say one thing for In-N-Out: they are punctual. As opposed to Five Guys, where geological epochs can pass while you wait for your burger, we got our patties in under two minutes. But was it worth the wait? In a burger—or in any kind of food—the first impression is everything. It makes or breaks the meal. For instance, if you get a bowl of goulash and immediately think “This looks like cat vomit,” well, that pretty much blows the rest of the meal, doesn’t it?

My burger, alas, did not make a good impression. It did not offer a firm handshake, failed to look me in the eye, and dressed inappropriately for the occasion. Woops, sorry there. I mean, it looked kind of…small. Five Guys Burgers are the size of frisbees. You have to apply your ketchup by the gallon and your mayo by the quart. The In-N-Out Burger, by contrast, nearly vanishes in its paper sleeve. I spent five minutes unwrapping the damn thing before I finally got to the burger. It was like one of those disappointing Christmas presents, where you start with a big box only to find a series of progressively smaller boxes ending in a package of underwear.

But wait—there’s more! Each burger comes with In-N-Out’s super-secret ranch dressing, the recipe of which is so classified that nobody knows it. This makes it very difficult to reproduce. The dressing has a rather unpleasant pinkish color. It looks like the burger died a horrible death on the bun, oozing out its lifeblood before expiring. This was not a good way to begin a meal.

In the end, though, appearance must take a back seat to taste. A burger should rise and fall on its moist juicy deliciousness mmmmrgghghhhhh…sorry, I was briefly overcome by drool. I’m sad to report that the In-N-Out burger failed to live up to expectations. I took my first bite and got a mouthful of lettuce, ranch sauce, and tomato. The second bite turned out the same. Third bite—still no burger. Had I ordered something off the Secret Menu by accident? Had I twitched my wrist or jerked my head in a way that the cashier interpreted to mean, “Hey, I want two slices of bread and sauce, but no burger”?

Turns out that In-N-Out burgers are apparently squashed to the thickness of a penny before serving. I did some quick calculations. Of the seventeen bites I took, only nine contained any burger whatsoever! Now, granted, I’m making those numbers up. But they seem reasonable. It’s not like the burger was that great anyway; it tasted kind of dry. The whole thing put me in mind of the old Borscht Belt joke: The food was terrible! And the portions were so small!

Yeah, I’ll probably go back there again before I leave California. But I will go under protest. I will eat their burger and fries—but in my heart, I won’t enjoy it. In-N-Out Burger, you are dead to me. You hear? Dead to me!