Robert G.
Yelp
I wasn't expecting to write a review today, but I have no choice. Because today I was served what can only be described as the most tragic cheeseburger in American history...
I stopped by Zesto around 6:30, because I was starving, and it was open. I've always wanted to like Zesto, because they try to be ambitious, but every single time I've eaten at any of the locations I have been nothing but enormously disappointed.
Yesterday, my Zesto experience was so tragically pathetic, that it actually became comical. I was in a rush, so I hit the drive through to try and get something relatively quickly. I figured a single cheeseburger would suffice to hold me over until I had time to actually get real food, and having had Zesto before I knew the chicken was not a viable option. After spending far too much time in the drive through line, I eventually paid $3.49 for just the burger, and then waited patiently for five minutes or so for my food. While waiting, I read the sign on the drive through window, which reminded me of the importance of patience, and assured me it was necessary, because my food was being "cooked to order."
I finally get handed the bag containing my single cheeseburger, and as soon as I reach in the bag to grab it, I notice something is wrong. "Wtf... I didn't order a pancake. Did they get my order wrong?" I think to myself. Having been made curious by this unexpected development, I pull out the very flat, and carelessly wrapped parcel inside the bag, and begin to unwrap it. What I find is so shocking it sends me into a fit of uncontrollable laughter at the traffic light leaving the restaurant. I, in a moment of spontaneous hunger, have managed to come face to face with the saddest, most tragic, most hopelessly depressing cheeseburger in my countries history. There is absolutely no other way to describe it, if this cheeseburger were a component of a history class, it would undoubtedly be the Great Depression. If it were a car it would be a Soviet Trabant. If it were a pet, you'd take it to be put down immediately. Up until this moment, that will live in infamy for at least the rest of my life, I had no idea that something as simple as a cheeseburger could actually become a tragedy.
It was so bad that I've been thinking about it for hours. It's very existence raises questions. I still don't know why the entire sandwich was thinner than my iPhone. I did not know, up until that moment, that stale hamburger buns could actually be measured in nanometers. I didn't know microwaves got hot enough to turn undersized pucks of frozen, unseasoned ground beef into hard carbon pucks, which if utilized correctly would almost certainly find a new home in the saw blade section at Home Depot. I honestly expect the physicists at the Large Hadron Collider will want to know how it is that ground beef could be rendered so hot, that it turns to pure carbon, and yet that heat could still fail to melt a tasteless slice of cheese product. If the scientists are successful, that cheese might replace Nomex as the fire retardant material in the suits worn by firefighters and racing drivers. Never in my life did I think a bad cheeseburger could bring about an existential crisis, or that food could actually be so bad that it would actually become hilarious. But that was all before I went to Zesto...
I don't normally have the presence of mind to photograph my food, despite having once been a professional photographer with years of experience, but this was different. My instincts kicked in, because I knew then that I wasn't just taking a picture of my food, I was going to be documenting history. In my car, at that very moment, on that unassuming day, was the cheeseburger equivalent of Pearl Harbor, and I had an obligation to capture and document it, to serve as a warning from history.
The cheeseburger was so sad that a still of its image alone could have been an advertisement for pharmaceutical anti-depressants, or maybe Valium, provided Sarah McLaughin would be willing to license the rights to her music to play in the background.
This was not the fault of the employees, even though I suspect one might have smashed my burger with their skull at some inconceivable force, while banging their head against the food prep counter. This is, and has been my experience with Zesto for many years, and across multiple counties. Somehow I paid 350% the price of a double cheeseburger from McDonalds, and got the equivalent sandwich, except it was comprised of pure, and absolutely unadulterated sadness.
Thank God they have that sign at the drive through to remind customers to be patient because the food is being cooked to order. Because if I knew what I was getting into in advance, I would have floored the accelerator and driven my car into the nearby theater on purpose just to avoid having to ever write a review about the most depressing cheeseburger in American history.
