I’m easily impressed by seemingly small actions.
If you’re at a restaurant with me when I order a burger, you may think I’m high maintenance when I ask whether the “medium” is closer to medium-well or medium-rare. You’re wrong. I just like burgers and don’t want my experience to be ruined by a too pink or too charred piece of meat. It shouldn’t be difficult for someone who is familiar with a restaurant’s burgers to answer that simple question.
At Burger Club, not only did the cashier know the answer to my question, but he asked if I like it just a little pink inside and then went back to personally tell the chef to cook it that way. It took about 50 seconds. It’s a small action. But to me it’s huge, and quite possibly the difference between a delicious burger experience and a disappointing one.
So I was already impressed when I left with my gigantic paper bag (if I were the type to care whether strangers knew I was heading home to eat alone and go to bed at 9pm on a Friday, I’d also be appreciative of this wasteful use of the giant bag because you would never guess there was only one meal in there). But then when I got home and opened it, I saw another separate bag filled with sauces. Mostly ketchup, but also 2 other ones. It didn’t matter that I didn’t even like the other sauces; the fact that an entire bag was devoted to them pushed Burger Club over the edge of impressiveness.
And then, as if to say, “Wait, don’t stop there–there are more impressed feelings to be had,” the burger itself was actually terrific, and the fries were delicious as well.
It’s a little silly that it’s taken me this long to sample Burger Club since it’s 2.5 blocks from my apartment, but they always say the good things are worth the wait. I have no choice but to give clichés an extra point for this one.