Date Posted: September 19, 2011
Print Edition: September 14, 2011
Every year, some group of students receives a mandate stretching into the hundreds and then becomes responsible for disbursing funds worth thousands of dollars. Whatever pretensions of governance or advocacy the student union possesses, the bottom line is the bottom line. And although many causes and clubs are funded by the student union through our student fees, there is thankfully a flagship money sink which all students from the anime club to the xylophone enthusiasts’ association can rally around.
I’m referring, of course, to our illustrious on-campus pub. This venerable institution has been the source of much friction, innuendo, and scandal in the past. Many remedies have been attempted in all the time I myself have been here, some of which I was even involved in. But in half a decade, never has anyone truly sought to so categorically reform the place as we are seeing now. The first step was renaming Casey’s On Campus to AfterMath Social Club while keeping the original Casey’s signage. A bold move, but university is just the place for riddles and obscure purposes.
But the most sinister action has been wrapped up in slick advertising, meant to distract and confuse. An entirely new menu has been created for the only social club that meets after mathematics. This menu is filled to the brim with all sorts of sustenance, but the one dish taking centre stage is a burger. They call it the Ridonkuliss burger, because a ‘ridiculous burger’ is not quite preposterous enough. This burger is hyped without any shame or regret as being as satisfying as ambrosia itself.
I do not doubt that this burger comes with loads of mediocre meat and sloppy sauces, such that eating one on a date will guarantee you’ll need to wash your shirt before you wash your sheets. Such amateurish burger design is something that I’ve come to expect from Sodexo or any of the other soulless multinationals which line our streets and process our beef. But from an institution which is subsidized by students for thousands of dollars, my expectations are somewhat more sophisticated. And why shouldn’t they be? Only a few short months ago, the pub formerly known as Casey’s provided a burger that was neither sloppy nor mediocre. A burger which inspired students everywhere to embrace a menagerie of flavours that transported the tongue to islands of ecstasy more debaucherous and more elegant than Ibiza during Spring break.
I ought to know. I designed it.
The JDR burger was bestselling and for a damn good reason. It was – and remains – eminently tasty. Starting with an all organic cow, raised on love and apples, the JDR burger harnesses pure affection in the meat and marries it with sheer possibility. Monterey Jack cheese is licked by flame and melted onto a perfectly symmetrical patty, where it is joined by pleasingly irregular peanuts, shucked and seasoned. A single tomato slice, grown by pious and hardworking Amish, is placed atop the warm patty where it is joined by potently fresh lettuce. The bun is baked in an all stone oven with a secret yeast, making the crust slightly crispy and the crumb warm and succulent. A habanero-based hot sauce is spread evenly and thinly on one side while a secret BBQ sauce, imported from the ranches of West Texas, is painted on the other half.
But before the bread or even the tomato meets the beef, two thick slices of Citrus latifolia are cut and squeezed over the cheese and peanut coated patty.
The JDR burger is a one way ticket to flavour country. Your student union doesn’t want you to have tasty burgers. It’s time to speak up and organize! Demand the JDR burger today. You deserve it.