Schnäck d'amour

I have a list of things that I've intended to blog about and haven't, and most of the items no longer signify anything to me. This is frustrating rather than being cool in some postmodern content-free manner. Other list elements are vague beyond the point of helpfulness (books, eh? That's it, I'll blog all about books, and follow up with a posting about film).

Schnäck, though–I remember Schnäck. I went on down to Schnäck, way the fuck on the other side of the BQE with Adam a few weeks ago. It was reviewed in A Hamburger Today, and Josh had mentioned it for a while, so why not?

The burgers at Schnäck are not nearly as diacritical as the name suggests. They were fairly tasty, though definitely not up to Blue 9/In-N-Out snuff, with a definite salt-n-peppa flava to them. There's a shaker full of homemade hotsauce on each table, and I dabbled with that, ketchup, french fries, and cheese on my four mini-burgers. I forget which topping tasted the best, as this was several weeks ago and I don't have a mind for condiments.

We also had a pitcher of a not-awful ale for something like $12, which isn't bad for a restaurant.

A word of warning, though: the people at the table next to us were overcharged on their bill, and sure enough, we were too (by $2). It seemed a little bit of a stretch for that to be a coincidence, so perhaps they're running some sort of scam there, hoping that people so sated on wee-burgers and beer won't be able to do math. Or perhaps the waiters, who were all well-tattooed and pierced, can't do math. Because of stereotypes.


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