Last night, Cooper and I ended the weekend the same way we've ended so many weekends this year: with half-priced burgers at Bateman's, sitting at the bar with our friends Jen and Bill.
Batemans is by no means Le Bec-Fin - it's a loud, too-bright, college town sports bar. On Sunday nights, it's always packed with obnoxious football fans looking for $4 cheeseburgers and $2 Coors Light draughts. The waiters and waitresses are overly busy and under-concerned freshmen at Towson University. And don't even get me started on the menu. It's about 12 pages long (an homage to the Cheesecake Factory, I suppose) and pretty much everything on it sucks.
But we go there for a reason. Two reasons, actually: the burgers and the wings.
I have to hand it to the place for understanding what they do right - and really doing it right. Ten out of the 12 pages of that menu are useless to all but the most daring (or stupid) of diners. But the other two - oh, they are good.
On Sunday nights, we order original wings, and we each get our own burger. Jen mixes it up, but never eats the bun. Cooper came out of left field last night and ordered the Havana Burger, served on foccacia with ham piled on. And Bill and I went traditional with bacon cheeseburgers. And we all ate nearly all our fries.
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