Eat Your Heart Out, Jackson Pollock! (Because You Can’t Eat Your Paintings)


Good Morning:

Given that the Little Griddle sits on Market Street diagonally across from Twitter and only two blocks away from City Hall, I suppose that lunch could cost a lot more than it does. Fortunately, they do an excellent job with burgers and you don’t have to pay extra for french fries (unlike too many places–it’s San Francisco’s worst culinary atrocity), so the Griddle does deserve the occasional visit. Esp. when the huge $12.75 Evil Knievel burger comes looking like this (all shots taken with my iPhone 6 Plus).


As it happens, I don’t dress my fries in salt and ketchup. Never have. Always preferred mustard and black pepper–seriously, you should give that combo a try, absolutely delicious. Lately, I’ve experimented with mustard, black pepper, and Mexican hot sauces like Chohula’s “Original” red hot sauce and various green habanero sauces. So when I finished off my lunch, the tray looked like this:



Using my last french fry as my paintbrush–seemed appropriate–I went all Jackson Pollock on my condiments and ended up with this:

A La Recherche Des Evil Knievel Hamburgers Perdu.

A La Recherche Des Evil Knievel Hamburgers Perdu.

Dang, I’m good. The gentlemen sitting diagonally across from me at the next table perhaps did not think so; he took one look at my efforts and spent the rest of his lunch studiously avoiding looking at me.

True genius has never received proper appreciation in its own time.

Vonn Scott Bair


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