Dear Ubiquitous burger joints,
I'm a man who is happy with a 1/4-pound burger. Actually, I'm a man who is freaking overjoyed with a 1/4-pound burger when it's cooked right. And I simply don't need more than that. You know why? Because I'm going to slather it in onions and cheese and condiments. I'm going to still have to manage a bun of some sort. And I'm ordering fries.
Furthermore, I'm not (and never will be) a competitive eater. As such,
I don't need benchmarks to determine my ability to consume food. I have
that meter in my head. It's some combination of common sense and the
signals my brain receives from my stomach that we're good to move on to
dessert. So let's stop with all this madness that a 1/4-pound burger
doesn't cut it and is somehow less manly.
You got a little carried away, burger joints, starting about five years ago (see above). In your quest to get me to "eat more meat," you forgot that I really only need a single level of full. There's full, and then there's unpleasantly full (which I do not wish to visit again). I'm not my dog. I do not hope for my meal to immobilize me on the couch as I softly moan and fitfully attempt to sleep.
So here I am, man to man, telling you to deal with the fact that I don't want more of your meat. Nobody does.
A man who judges burgers not on weight but on taste.