Mojoe’s Classic Big Moe burger moved me.
It was in this humble, cozy establishment, at one of its handful of smallish tables, ensconced within Polaroid-lined walls, beneath a clothesline of justifiably blustery Mojoe’s T-shirts, that I and my fellow TSB experts had our burger horizons unexpectedly expanded.
At first glance, the Classic Big Moe looked like an average Classic-category cheeseburger on a store-bought sesame-seed bun (don’t make me say Merita…there, I said it), neither toasted nor steamed, complete with shredded lettuce, a slop of condiments, with the order of the build a mite convoluted: The cheese was melted properly enough on the patty, but then came tomato, lettuce, and pickle—in that order!—up to the bun (yes—the pickle against the mayo, people). Presented with a seemingly ho-hum bun like this and an apparent disregard for proper build order, and one’s hopes are understandably dashed.
But alas, I had judged this burger by its proverbial cover.
Mojoe’s mojo is in the patty. Thick, fresh Angus beef with enough rich and luscious burger juice to mix with the moisture of the veggies and condiments, uniting all flavors into a single, wondrous blend of burger bliss.
My rating: 4.5 out of 5 (though seriously tempted to go all the way)
It had been a long day. I had spent weeks in a quiet, meditative state, struggling to free my soul of the Spirits surfer burger, and now it was time to emerge and rejoin the physical world.
I entered the joint (yes—definitely a joint) and perused the short menu. Pabst was only a buck and a half—a good sign. I ordered the Classic Big Mo with lettuce, tomato, mayo, cheddar cheese, and—an ingredient that would prove crucial—bacon.
The presentation of the burger was as it should be—modest, in a plastic basket lined with foil. The taste, however, was what it was all about: ten ounces of medium-cooked Angus nirvana. Even by itself the beef was beyond flavorful, but what really did it for me was the bacon. None of this Applewood smoked nonsense, which undermines the burger experience by portraying itself as more than it is. Just plain bacon, perfectly cooked, crispy without being burnt. Frankly, I was so taken aback by the overall flavor that I ignored the order of the build.
I couldn’t think of anything I might have been improved upon. Even after sleeping on it and consulting with my guru, my final rating was unchanged.
My rating: 5 out of 5.
Yum num num num num. Wow. Yum. Man, that’s a good burger. Wow. Is this burger amazing, or is it just me? Yum num num. [Sigh.] Whew. Man, there’s just not a lot wrong with this burger. Yum num num. Yum num num num num. This has got to be a five. I mean, if this isn’t a five, what is? Yum. I mean, granted, you have to be stingy with your fives. You can’t just be slingin’ fives like candy at a clown show. I mean—num num num—Silence of the Lambs is a good movie. A great movie. But you have to save your fives for Star Wars, you know? What? No, I’m not saying that this is the Star Wars of hamburgers per se. Though it does have that slightly euphoric blowing-up-the-Death-Star kind of feeling to it. Yum num num. Yum num. Man, this burger is good. Yes—I do realize that I’m a world-renowned burgiatrist yammering on like a schoolgirl meeting Joe Jonas. But did you see this lettuce? It’s shredded. I love that. It would have been a five without the shredded lettuce, but man, that just clinches it.
My rating: 5 out of 5.