We fry everything in this country nowadays, especially in the South. Eating head shaking fried food has become the new test of a peculiar brand of manhood. Go to any county or state fair, and you have a litany of preposterous fried items: Snickers bars, bacon, Moon Pies, Twinkies, macaroni and cheese, and Coca Cola all get a batter bath and take their place next to your side of fries. In that spirit, the recently convened Burger Court of Houston, Texas, held its usual private conference to discuss petitions for oral argument. On the menu? Burgers, naturally.
When the Burger Court convenes, even for a simple conference, the usual fare is a steakburger made out of ground, USDA prime strip steak or ribeye. In the grinder also goes a bit of bacon or pancetta for added fat and moisture. At the most recent meeting, however, a motion came before the Court that the Justices consider a chicken fried burger. Flour, Kosher salt, and a bottle of Shiner Smokehaus being on hand, the Court -- unanimously, sua sponte, and without written opinion -- elected to engage in open-minded judicial activism and hear the writ of mandamus from a fourth burger patty at risk of being orphaned after three were placed on the grill.
The batter consisted of approximately one cup of flour, a fair bit of salt, and the twelve-ounce beer missing two small sips. After a brief coating, the patty went into an iron skillet filled with one-and-a-half inches of grapeseed oil heated to just below the smoke point. Ten minutes and a brief drain on paper towels later? A golden, juicy, gorgeous indulgence. The crust was light and very crisp, adding a nice textural element to the bacon-tinged steak. It retained natural juices well, without being too greasy. It may have been less greasy than many burgers cooked on a griddle. No condiments necessary. But this is probably a burger best split three ways.
Due next on the Burger Court docket: Lankford Grocery.
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