Get ye to the Shake Shack before it is too late . . . get ye quicker . . . as a matter of fact â€“ stop doddling with your time by reading this here missive â€“ and scoot on over to Madison Square Park with serious haste. I have a feeling that you wonâ€™t be disappointed by what you find.
Oh â€“ and what will you be finding in the middle of this Manhattan park â€“ under the swaying trees? Well â€“ junior â€“ you are going to find an oasis of burgers and custard the likes of which will keep a smile on your kisser for a long long while.
I happened to go for lunch on my birthday and after waiting in a super line and then waiting for a tiny bit longer at the food window â€“ it was time to hunt down a little metal table in the middle of a big bed of pebbles. Did I mention that the whole place is outside? Well it is . . . as in â€“ outside of the world of tasty tastes that taste so good when they are in the process of being tasted â€“ that is . . .
I got a cheeseburger with fries (being relatively new to the joint â€“ I didnâ€™t know to get a â€œshack burgerâ€ – but worry not . . . because that beast is squarely in my cross-hairs) and a coke. I held off on getting any kind of custard (okay â€“ a quick note â€“ instead of ice cream â€“ they have custard â€“ and it is a good alternative) because I knew that the food would fill me up â€“ and also â€“ I didnâ€™t want it to sit there and melt while I ate the regular food â€“ because I am not anywhere near the camp of people that can eat a milkshake while also eating a hamburger â€“ sorry spike â€“ I just donâ€™t roll that way.
The cheeseburger was simple, juicy, did everything that a burger was supposed to do and by that right â€“ was soooo ridiculously good. It made itâ€™s home in a perfectly sized potato bun (on a side note . . . I really love potato bread in general â€“ I feel like it is the natural progression for me from the white bread that I grew up loving so much â€“ one day I will tell you about the mythical potato bread restaurant that used to be where Wendyâ€™s is in what most people call North Dekalb Mall . . . but what I still know as Market Square â€“ ooh yeah â€“ Iâ€™ll tell you alright). The fries were well cooked â€“ golden, crispy and just right. The Coke was also from a good year. Basically the meal was the sum of three good parts . . . taken individually â€“ they were all really good â€“ but then when they were all put together on my table â€“ on my birthday . . . they transcended their individuality to become something special.
I felt like I had kind of missed out on the treat side of the Shake Shack and so I went back a few weeks later and hopped past the long line into what is known as the â€œB-Lineâ€ â€“ which takes you past all of the burger and fry people straight to the world of cones and drinks. I heard a kid ask his mother if the â€œB-Lineâ€ was faster than a roller coaster â€“ then â€“ while pondering that question â€“ I got totally freaked out. I was already past the menu â€“ and all that I could see was a sign that said â€œNO SHAKES IN THE B-LINE.â€ But I was in line for a shake . . . and had been for a little while â€“ and was a â€œConcreteâ€ (one of their treats â€“ that is â€“ I think â€“ like a Blizzard) shake?! What could I get â€“ I couldnâ€™t even see a menu â€“ had the â€œB-Lineâ€ totally backfired on me?! Was the â€œB-lineâ€ faster than a roller coaster?!?
I got to the front of the line and blurted out â€œIâ€™ll have a purple cow.â€ After I handed over my $4.75 (ye-ouch!) â€“ I said to the girl â€œUhm â€“ what â€“ exactly is a purple cow?â€ To which she laughed and said â€œA purple cow is grape soda and vanilla custard.â€
As I walked through the city with my â€œpurple cowâ€ in hand . . . I knew that there was a lot right with the world (at least for that singular moment . . . New York is a genius for doling out singular moments â€“ which can swing violently from the top of the mountain to the gutter of hell in the blink of an eye â€“ to no end â€“ to no purpose â€“ and without even pausing â€“ it is a big Saint Bernard with a mind of itâ€™s own that does what it needs to do with nary a thought to all of us fleas hopping around in itâ€™s fur . . .).
Get ye to the Shake Shack â€“ get a burger â€“ try out a purple cow â€“ and fear not the â€œB-Lineâ€ . . . the â€œB-Lineâ€ is your friend â€“ ooh â€“ and after a bit of research â€“ I can unequivocally say that it comes in just a hair faster than a roller coaster . . . just a hair â€“ though.