Juan Ignacio Valdivia

31/03/22

Quest for a hamburger

The blood slowly drips through my mouth as the flavor begins to kick in, first comes

the distinct softness of the bun, then comes the refreshment of the cold vegetables

only to finish on the top of the gastronomic experience: the meat.

Hamburgers have always been a staple in my life, being the request that I would

always bombard my mother whenever it was my birthday. However, what was once a

nice treat and pastime slowly transformed itself into worrisome addiction.

My problem was not only limited to the flavor caused by such a delicious meal but also

finding its best variation, I knew that this goal was attainable and I had a plan in mind,

searching for it in its own house: the US. The thought of finding such treasure began to

consume my thoughts, up to the point that it began to be the only thing I was

genuinely interested in, I knew it existed and I was committed to finding it, no more

would I have to keep on consuming the mediocre fake burgers made down south in my

country of Chile, in the end as everything in life, if it is was made all the way down

south it must be worst. This plan became a reality when I finally made the decision of

studying in the US propelling this pipe dream into the realm of reality.

As every student in college realizes their first week of school, one does not have

enough time to do everything. Dividing one’s time in a thoughtful and efficient manner

is essential for success and this was exactly what I decided to do, starting with the first

priority: Finding the best hamburger. I quickly assembled a small group of eager

freshmen who though indifferent with the task at hand still proved good company. The
first stop on this journey was Smash Burger, and sadly it resulted disappointing. My

eager mouth dripping in taste was dried up in a matter of seconds by a hamburger that

resembled more a dog's plastic hamburger toy than meat, leaving me to survive with

my cold mediocre drink. Although this first step resulted in a poor experience, I knew

deep down that the future was going to have the answers I was looking for, in the end,

how could a place like America produce something bad? Furthermore, when I said that

this was an obsession I was not joking, and whenever this happens, I take it to the

maximum.

The next restaurant I decided to give an opportunity was Five guys. I went after a

university hockey game with the joy of finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel,

however just as before my eager mindset was crushed with a wave of disappointment.

For years I had been told by lucky friends who managed to escape the grasp of Chile’s

cuisine of the legendary burger they made at this joint. Decent is probably the best

adjective I could give this hamburger; the bun was not squishy enough and the

vegetables seemed like an imitation of them rather than reality. Additionally, the

feeling of unhealthiness that followed this burger sunk into my body to the point that

after getting home I thought I was soon to have a heart attack. One more

disappointment that little by little began destroying my hopes of accomplishing my

goal, what was it that I was doing wrong?

My last chance lay in the classics, and in this case, I decided to try out the king of them

all: McDonald’s. Before transitioning to the terrible conclusion, I must admit that I did

not try it in the best state, as I grub hubed it at 2 am, however the negative experience

of this moment overacts any possible context. The sensation that came into my mouth

was similar to an olive, immediate rejection. Never had I ever tasted something so
unhealthy and repugnant in my life. As I searched for salvation with the fries I was left

in the same despair as before. Although it did indeed have an explosion of flavor this

resulted working in the wrong sense, nearly destroying my love for hamburgers. How

was it possible that an American chain made better hamburgers in Chile than in the US,

the land where everything works.

After that horrible experience, I decided to just let sleep comfort me. As I began to

wrap myself around the sheets of my bed a feeling of homesickness began to invade

my body, the once comforting feelings created by my past encounters with Chilean

hamburgers were seeming to vanish, leaving me in a state of numbness. After several

weeks of this feeling, I began to ask myself, why is it that the quality of American

hamburgers could produce such a feeling of disappointment inside me?

I quickly realized that under these disappointments laid a much deeper message that

now seems so simple. What had caused me such pain was my unrealistic expectations

of American burgers, and more importantly, my disrespect for Chiles's production

capabilities. This had comes from the pessimistic thought that spans through the

whole of Latin-American where we are born believing that anything produced abroad

is better than something local. Why would a country be a guarantee of quality and why

would the US necessarily produce everything in a great way? In the end, I will just live

with happy expectancy of thinking about the next time I will be able to sit down and

delight myself with a Chilean Hamburger, no longer will this disappointment fill me

with numbness. After all the best burger was not made by Uncle Sam, but rather Uncle

Juan.