Everybody has a burger they measure all other burgers against. Most people can tell you exactly where they ate it and roughly what year. Mine was at a counter in Chicago that doesn’t exist anymore. It was nothing special to look at — wax paper, a paper boat of fries, a cup of water nobody asked for. But I thought about that burger for three days after I left town and I have been chasing it ever since. That’s the thing about a great burger. It doesn’t announce itself. It just stays with you.
