Anyway, we spontaneously decide that we need a burger, and we're a little bored with our usual trek into Boston's Seaport, so we weave our way into Cambridge. I know most of the way in because of a judo club my boys attended near Union Square in Somerville. I'm not driving today, though, so I help navigate from the back seat.
The main problem with Cambridge is that parking sucks. Well, honestly, the main problem with Cambridge is that it's full of crazy social justice warriors who have lots of cash and very little brain cells. Secondly, however, parking sucks. We drive around searching for spots and get rejected at the garage because it's full. For anyone who claims to "pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd," that's really an anomaly because there are no spots to be had in the Yard nor anywhere else. The garage guy directs us to another lot down the street, and for a mere $24 (not including tip), we can park via valet for a couple of hours. Talk about bending over and taking it. So, apparently parking alone is worth a pound of flesh. (Where's Portia when I need her?)
We walk about a half a mile to Boston Burger Company. The walk isn't the problem; the problem is the crowd. There are so many people here, it's crazy. Even crazier is the idea that Harvard Square, the Jewel in the Crown worn by the young hipsters who do not know any better, is actually a bit of a dump. Oh, sure, it is littered with high-end stores that sell patchouli-smelling woven blankets leftover from the seventies and sold by people with straggly long hair who haven't bathed in decades and wear only gauze clothing with fringe.
But, it is also littered with homeless people. It disgusts me that in a Sanctuary City of SJWs these homeless people are begging, living, and sleeping right out in the open in broad daylight. We are walking around them and stepping over them to get to the burger place. Cambridge is the city that is packed with people who want to be SJWs as long as it's NIMBY.
Throngs of people are pushing along the sidewalks, and idiots are jogging through it all, smacking directly into people without any concern that maybe one shouldn't try to run the gauntlet when thousands of people are packed like sardines on conveyor belts moving down the walkways like the Great Molasses Flood, only with skin. We are swept up to the crosswalk to get to Boston Burger Company, make our way to the opposite side of Mass Ave, and are thrilled to discover no line at the restaurant.
We get seated in the back because I insist on not sitting anywhere near children. I am on school break, and by "break" I mean it will break my spirit if I am near school-aged children for the first forty-eight hours of decompression. My pals and I order local beer on tap: Harpoon Spring Pale Ale (highly recommend this). Then comes the menu.
There are many amazing burgers on this menu. I end up with the Killer Bee, a burger smothered in barbecue sauce, and topped with several deep-fried onion rings, large to small, creating what looks like a beehive on my burger. I have to put the top bun on and squish everything down in order to start attacking it. The cole slaw is pretty good, but the homemade potato chips are absolutely outstanding.
On the way back to the car, we stop into Harvard Square's Out of Town News to check out some of the newspapers they carry, which are far and wide and even foreign, only to find out they don't sell the newspapers anymore -- just local and the NY Times. Lame. So damn lame. Sure, everything is online now, but there's something about having the print right there in one's hands. Alas, it is not to be. Out of Town News should change its sign to Out of News Town.
We try everywhere to find some ice cream because the line at JP Licks is ridiculously long, but the only other shop advertising ice cream is actually a hole in the wall that has a couple of prepackaged chocolates for sale and looks more like a bookie's office than a real store, especially with the old guy sitting alone at the table with nothing but a phone and a folded up piece of paper.
Back to the car we go, pay the highway robbery fee, tip the valet, and get out of Dodge. The GPS takes us the long way home, around to the west and over instead of straight north and back through Somerville, but we get a lovely tour of Cambridge's lusher side, the side where people in their glass and mahogany houses preach to us common folk about the importance of taking in more needy, all the while stepping on or over the ones we already have.
