Seeing as how, I am City Mitten… when I go to certain places, I make people do certain things. When I was in D.C. this past weekend, my one goal was to go to Ray’s Hell Burger in Arlington, VA. There were a few grumbles from a few friends who wanted to keep napping (seriously) but I eventually got the clan together and forced our way over to Ray’s. I mean Obama ate there recently.
Here is a photo of two of my homeboys waiting in line to go inside Ray’s Hell Burger. The significance is this: Ray’s looks like absolutely nothing. I mean look at the sign, zero branding. This is a place you would just walk by if you hadn’t somehow heard of it or if you didn’t see the line. And you wait outside in line before they let you inside to wait in another line to place your order. But it works. Very efficient.
See inside: nothing much either. There is a fancy map to the right with push pins for where their guests are from. Once you order and pay, the cashier hands you a number card. In a few minutes, food runners come out shouting the numbers and you’d better respond fast cause they don’t have all day.
The burgers are huge:
I got mine Au Poivre, which I had no idea what that meant, but several @foursquare users recommended it and it was DANG GREAT and a little spicy! Kind of perfect! They have tons and tons of options, but I typically like my burgers old school: lettuce, tomato, pickle. And ketchup. That’s all you need, baby. Boy, were these burgers good. And juicy, which also means messy. Which also means I got burger juice everywhere. It somehow ended up on my left hip and my friend P was like, “Um, how did it get there?” because my hands had been above the table the whole time. Does that mean juice was dripping from my arm? Maybe? Does that sound disgusting? A little. Was it? Not at all.
Here’s P with his vanilla milkshake (and new tattoo, that you can sort of see on his wrist):
And here’s three more of my fabulous friends enjoying the fury of a Ray’s Hell Burger:
Now I know they were happy I got them out of bed.