Cheeseburgers in Paradise

I woke up this morning thinking about my maternal grandmother. Mama Daisy, as she was affectionately called, would have celebrated her 100th birthday today. We still miss her. And her killer cheeseburgers. As I was reading today's edition of the USA Today, the life section featured an article spotlighting America's top burger joints. My grandma should have had a posthumous mention; her cheeseburgers were a thing of culinary beauty. Before I describe her cooking process, please be warned! If you are under the care of a cardiologist, or if you have questionable cholesterol, please don't read this. First, my grandma always fried her burgers in an iron skillet, one heavy enough to kill a mule or a stray cat. But that's a story for another day. She would fill the bottom of the skillet with Crisco, then she would begin frying the burger patties. As they approached being done, she would cover each with several pieces of cheese. Note the use of the plural: pieces. What followed was pure genius. She would take a spatula and fling grease on top of the burgers! After the cheese had sufficiently melted, usually at the point the burgers could no longer be seen, she would remove them from the skillet and drain most of the grease. Notice I said most. She would then take the buns and place them flat side down in the skillet, allowing the edges to be blackened, the middles to be browned, and the whole thing to serve as a type of bread sponge for grease. They would then be removed, the burgers placed onto the buns, and mustard, ketchup, and mayo would be applied along with a slab of onion. Not a slice. A slab. As in a 1 inch thick slab. Add a side of fries and a Pepsi and wow! A meal for any occasion. I have never been able to quite duplicate the taste in my own kitchen. I miss those burgers. And her. I hope she's making them in Heaven. I know it's a silly thought. But at least there you could eat one without having to schedule bypass surgery. Happy 100th, Mama Daisy.