I worry that by mocking the various culinary oddities of the sports world, I come across like the boy who cried wolf. Mac N Cheese Balls, Apple Pie Nachos and Battle Red Tacos certainly push the envelope of sound dietary practice, but I survived them painlessly.
Now, hailing from the Atlanta Braves’ Truist Park, the proverbial wolf has arrived.
Nearly every corral at your local 4-H fair is represented in the Burgerizza, a 20-ounce beef patty laden with five pieces of cheddar cheese and bacon sandwiched between two 8-inch pepperoni pizzas.
As repulsive as this seems, there’s something immediately alluring about the word Burgerizza. It’s a haunting siren song echoing across a rippling sea of partially hydrogenated vegetable oil.
My quest to answer this call led me to Jim Lahey’s no-knead overnight pizza dough recipe, a mixture of all-purpose flour, active dry yeast, salt and water. I coaxed the dough into two small circles slightly larger than hamburger buns. Both received a smattering of sauce that I made by combining tomato sauce, garlic salt, dried basil leaves, oregano and sugar.
Even though I slashed the portion size roughly in half, I still had to scour most of Kroger’s meat and dairy aisles.
First came a block of low-moisture mozzarella, which I cut into thin slivers. The pre-shredded variety comes coated in potato starch and therefore does not melt together effectively, robbing a potentially perfect pie of its coveted cheese stretch.
In lieu of pepperoni, I used thin slices of a turkey kielbasa. That isn’t a secret kitchen maneuver or anything, it just happened to be on sale. The most appalling aspect of this meal is that I actually had to spend money to make it, so I wasn’t going to break the bank for little patches of cured salami.
After dusting the bottoms of each pizza with flour, I slid them onto a baking sheet in an oven preheated to 500 degrees, the hottest my oven could muster. My attention then shifted to the stovetop, where I had begun heating a dollop of oil in a wide pan.
Burgers are best served grilled, but the indoor method sufficed. I slapped two immense patties on the skillet, letting them develop a faint crust before flipping.
Next came the bacon, for which I again chose a turkey substitute. Turkey bacon does not get as crispy as pork, but it tends to be thicker and doesn’t curl up like a dollar bill in a clothes dryer.
Once the burgers had firmed up, I covered them in thin slices of cheddar cheese and stacked them so the residual heat and grease could aid the melting process.
I retrieved the pizzas after 10 minutes, at which point they no longer smelled of yeast but had yet to become Italian-style hockey pucks.
As soon as I nestled the two-story burger tower atop its foundation, there was no going back. The prettier of the two pizzas formed the top bun, and my Frankenstein’s monster was brought to life.
Gazing upon my plate, I endured a flood of emotions, none of them remotely close to pride or joy. Truthfully, I felt ashamed. All I wanted to do was call my parents and apologize to them for ever believing in me.
But the time for repentance was long past.
That night, I stared into the eyes of gluttony, with its pepperoni pupils and bacon lashes dripping with greasy tears. A shudder coursed along my spine as I bit down.
I experienced flavors that were simultaneously familiar yet foreign. I recognized warm, chewy pizza dough and a juicy cheeseburger, but everything was a bit off. Following a few pensive mouthfuls, I arrived at a somber conclusion.
The issue is not that there is too much dough or cheese or burger. There is just too much. I’m enough of a heathen to believe there is room in American cuisine for ground beef on pizza or marinara on a burger, but this perverse amalgam of two wholesome comfort foods has no place in the kitchen.
The Burgerizza rattles your perception of reality almost as hard as it does your intestinal tract.
It will make a god-fearing man question his faith and a staunch atheist seek religion.
It does not respond to reason. It does not ascribe to any law, be it of man or nature. It is entropy incarnate, the unavoidable final destination on a path of infinite chaos.
The Burgerizza is not good. The Burgerizza is not evil. The Burgerizza simply is.
