Cheeseburger Blues - Alaska

   One might think that living in Western Alaska one would miss fine dining. Such things as steaks and chops or even a good plate of spaghetti and meatballs are really not to be had anywhere where I was and even if there was a cafe I doubt if it would be very good or affordable. I mean seal and moose can only be fixed so many ways.
   The one cafe Hooper Bay did have was closed down a couple of years before I got there when the state licensing officials realized the village had no running water. Steak, chops, and fine dining is not what is missed however. To a teacher the food item missed most is a cheeseburger.
Not just an ordinary cheeseburger, but a double cheeseburger or DCB as known hence.
     Each teacher there had their favorite DCB eating establishment in the lower 48 and they were not above bragging about how much more delectable "mine is than yours." It was a never ending debate.
It came to no surprise to me then that someone eventually suggested that we each fix DCB's based on the particular recipe used back home and bring them to the next Saturday night card game. Perhaps then we could get a better understanding of why each thought their's was the best.
     I found myself at a little disadvantage because I did not now how my favorite DCB-making establishment went about making what I was sure the best tasting DCB anywhere. All I knew was that they were good, and I was always stressed-out trying decide between ordering a DCB or the giant tenderloin, equally as good, every time I was in Independence.
    The stress would always subside however when I decided to order both. A side of onion rings was mandatory of course. OK, it is just once a year so no lectures.
    I did the best I could from what I thought I knew about preparing them but to no avail. I never even came close to the culinary delight as I remembered; my efforts came very short of perfection.
We all showed up a little earlier than usual for the card game on Saturday and proudly displayed our various concoctions. The teachers from California and Arizona did not have much imagination, I thought, because they just put slices of avocado and salsa respectively between the patties.
There was more cheese than meat on the one provided by the teacher from Wisconsin and the DCB from Pennsylvania was burnt as black as coal.
   The one with the most daring, I thought, had orange peels laced across the top of the burger, compliments of the Florida representative, and the vice-principal from Mississippi breaded and deep fried his entry and insisted upon serving fried okra as a side dish.
   The whole process was an exercise in futility because they each faced the same problem I had. None of us could duplicate the taste of what we remember our particular DCB to be. Any event featuring and eating cheeseburgers with friends with some onion rings and fries thrown in cannot be all bad.  That evening we just made the best of the situation.