Burger Girl is a "breastaurant"—ya know, like Hooters and Twin Peaks, where the waitstaff all have giant Tetons and they bend over the table and serve you lunch with a side of face herp. So, knowing that there would be scantily clad women at this place and drooly, sweaty cavemen hungry for underage meat, I did what anyone would do: I brought my 1-year-old and asked for a high chair. What? I figure she's older than some of the hoots in this place anyhow.
I ordered The Hangover Burger (which comes with special sauce and a fried egg on top), and for an appetizer I had the Potatoes Gorgonzola. These seasoned waffle fries were covered in some kind of oozy Gorgonzola cheese sauce that was amazing. Your face needs these in it.
The burger, however, was not as impressive. I enjoyed the egg-on-burger experience. There was a breakfast sandwich + burger aspect to it. Kinda seemed like the definition of brunch.
But here's the thing: I get that The People want to see boobies while they eat lunch. I just would also have liked to see some pink—regarding the doneness of The Hangover Burger. The burger patty was a brick when it came out. That shit was cooked harder than George Hamilton. I heard so many dudes milkshake all over themselves over this place that I thought the burger patty served here would be better than, say, Whataburger.
I knooooow I could've ordered their million-dollar Kobe burger. I could also have motorboated a bunch of boobs in there, but I didn't. I know I could have asked for it to be cooked medium-well or medium or I could have done some other kind of high-maintenance shit while ordering to ensure a perfect burger experience. Shame on me for thinking that they would serve me a delicious burger without me having to be a dick, right? I'm not saying that this place is the worst burger in Dallas. I'm only submitting that the hoots here are probably way tastier than the hamburgers.
What they do have is the worst music playlist in Dallas. It's got to be the Exclusively Rock Band Songs Now That's Music! complete with some dude at a table air-drumming and scream-singing. It's 12:26 p.m., guy. Let's chill on the "He had waaaan guitar!!!"-ing.
