The $26 burger is no more at the Triangle Lounge, and its creator, Tom Hurley, is no longer involved with the Fremont bar and restaurant. Hurley first gained fame for his namesake French restaurant in Portland, which he closed at the beginning of this year; in an interview with The Oregonian, he blamed the closure on lingering effects of a 2004 protest against foie gras staged at Hurley’s. Hurley opened Coupage in Madrona in the fall of 2006; the signature menu item there was a pricey foie gras burger that met with praise instead of protests. After a number of staff changes (including the departure of the acclaimed opening chefs, who went on to open Wallingford’s Joule), Coupage shut down in August. It was reported that Hurley had purchased the Triangle a year ago, but it seems that the relationship was not so clear-cut, and it is now over.
At the Triangle recently, a server showed little remorse about the tandem departure of Hurley and the burger. Some choice words were deployed about the former, who was apparently not a big hit with the staff; as for the latter, the relief at no longer having to hear “a TWENTY-SIX DOLLAR burger!?” was evident. In the burger’s defense, it was meant for two and came with two beers (and did not involve foie). Mr. Hurley has not returned a call for comment.
I went there once. I ordered a beer I’ve never had and didn’t like it, so fuck that place.
That’s actually not a terrible price for two beers and a burger meant for two. But the very idea of a burger meant for two is an abomination unto the Lord, or at least unto common decency.
I have something you’ll love, Fnarf. And it most certainly is an abomination unto common decency.
This story makes me happy for reasons I don’t understand.
@3.
I want one!
There was this one time i bought lean ground beef and decided to make hamburgers with it. I decided it need more fat so i had Mikki mash and massage butter into the burger meat until it was thoroughly mixed. They smoked like hell on the grill and were a bit crispy, but I loved them.
Those were the least tasty burgers I’ve ever made. They weren’t bad, because I made them, but I wouldn’t do that again. And Bellevue Ave didn’t “have me” mash butter in, he pleaded with me to add butter.
Maybe the Jew will put it on his menu. You’d have to go to Bellingham tho.
Mikki sounds sensible to me. You don’t need to do that to a burger.
It was lean ground beef! IT NEEDED MORE FAT!
and of course mikki is sensible. Shes my better half.
Uh-oh, minus one million sensible points for you, Mikki.
Try putting a small pat of butter on it AFTER it’s cooked.
Thank you Fnarf. I suggested we buy more beef and use the lean beef for something else, I believe. Unfortunately now he wants another butter burger.
I had to indulge him, he wouldn’t stop asking for butter mixed in! Trust me, it isn’t something I’m proud of.
It tasted great though.
now go flaunt a bow tie to mrs fnarf.
hey, I blame poe for putting up that delicious picture
Can’t we just wrap a pork roast in bacon and call it a night?
Only if we can drizzle it with butter.
Why don’t you just eat a stick of butter?
Don’t mind if I do!
I’m going on a train! Choo-choo!
Every time I try to put on a bow tie Mrs. Fnarf threatens to kick me in the balls until I take it off.
I’ve eaten a stick of butter before, on a dare.
What if someone dared you to blow a guy?
Is the penis covered in butter? We know he doesn’t like ketchup with his weeners.
Been there, didn’t do that. I’ve been dared to do just about everything, but a fellow has to pretend to have standards.
I drank bong water once.
Fuck the burgers—the Triangle is the only place around there in which I actually enjoy getting drunk.
FYI. Tom Hurley did not create the now-famous foie burger, Rachel Yang of Joule, formerly Coupage, did. He took the credit, fired her (after moving her all the way from Alan Ducasse in New York City), put it on his Portland menu, and tried to get famous with it. The rest is history.
The Triangle has some of the worst sub-frat lifeforms available for inspection in the city. Among my friends, it’s actually known as “The Douche.” Every guy in there on Saturday night has a popped collar, a pair of khakis, ample bling, spiked hair stinking of product, and a million sleazy pick-up lines.