"Honey, can you bring the buns?"
KABOOOOM! (That was me, crashing back down onto the floor of reality). Because what have I just realized? The bloody buns aren't cut! And I will now have to cut the buns while the hamburgers are perfectly ready at this very moment, and Noisette will be yelling where the hell are the buns, and I will try and get them cut quickly, and I will smush them because they are nice and soft as they're supposed to be, just not cut. And I will be even later because I will get out the camera to take pictures of these un-cut buns as a testament to how South Africans just can't be trusted with a decent hamburger. And I will have to Google if smush is actually a word.
|They totally look like they're pre-cut. It fools me every single time!|
|And this is what they look afterwards. Smushed. Squished. Whatever the word is.|
South Africa: Please cut your hamburger buns! And please don't put Boerewors spice into pre-made patties. I doesn't belong there. And please don't smother a burger in cheese sauce just because someone asks for a cheeseburger.
Saturday night burgers have become an institution at our house. I make some really mean patties, and Noisette gets all the praise for grilling them to perfection. Almost perfection. They're always a bit overdone, on account of having to wait for the buns to be cut already.