Meers // experimenting with pie pans

April 22, 2013 § Leave a comment

I’ve always been a bit of a traditionalist.  Cakes in cake pans, muffins in muffin tins, and pies in pie pans. It’s just logical that way. But last weekend, I experienced a paradigm shift that went straight to my hips. I had a Meers burger. You know, the famous Oklahoma burger that challenges you from a 8″ pie pan? A monstrous concoction of fresh-off-the-farm Texas Longhorn beef, red onions, tomato, and lettuce in conjunction with a whole wheelbarrow of fried okra. They cut it into quarters as if that’ll make it less embarrassing to eat.

image courtesy cbshop.com

image courtesy cbshop.com

Meers has been dubbed the home of Oklahoma’s best burger. Located in the Wichita Mountains, this down home restaurant has the rustic feel that every stereotype of Oklahoma includes. Animal heads, ancient photographs, license plates, and a variety of business cards litter the dark-stain walls. Our server handed me a big mason jar with ice clinking against its misty sides. Grinning, I traced my fingers down the greasy sides of the menu, settling on the one-and-only Meers burger. All or nothing.

When our burgers finally arrived, I had to laugh as I reconsidered the current size of my stomach with the size of the monstrous burger in front of me.

“There’s no way you can eat that whole thing.”

Challenge accepted. Every leaf of lettuce, every scrap of juicy beef and tomato.

The look of disgusted respect was worth the twenty plus pounds I felt gathering in the pit of my stomach. I felt myself descending into a food coma, but morale had never been higher.

We paid the ticket, drinking water in small sips, unsure how much space was left in our stomachs.

“Well, let’s go,” he said, slipping a tip under his water glass. I looked despondently up from the rickety chair. I was going to need a crane or a Hover-round to get out of there. I felt like I’d eaten an entire grass-fed cow, along with all the love that went into raising it. I was a happy camper, but I was also an overfed camper with no future in walking.

He pulled me up, gingerly, laughing as I painstakingly put one foot in front of the other.

I didn’t appreciate it. Some of us just can’t handle half a pound of beef in one sitting. Call me a pansy, but I’m a fruit-fed thing.

Good thing we had a two-hour drive ahead of us. Moving wasn’t really on my agenda for the next three weeks.  

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