I shoved the last meaty bite of a Burger Time Best ($5.99) into my mouth with my index finger, sucked the goop off and assessed the situation. I'd just scarfed my half of three one-sixth-pound patties layered with ham, bacon, cheese, mayo, pickles, lettuce and fat slices of red onion and tomato, and I was covered in juice from the tip of nine fingers to the bottom of both elbows, where some combination of mayo and tomato juice was pooling on my dining room table. Despite the meat gorge, it was juice, not grease.
My better half, seated next to me with impressively dry forearms but two messy hands, declared it one of the best burgers he'd ever had and moved on to picking at a heap of tots and sour cream-seasoned fries. But after the burger, nothing could compare. The fry sauce was too thin. The triple decker club sand ($4.59) mediocre. I turned my attention to a chocolate milkshake and asked my cleaner-handed companion to write four words on the back of a stray envelope on the table. "Excellent consistency. More Ghirardelli."
A few days earlier, we'd been less messy with our Burger Time booty. Breakfast. A scrape-the-windshield morning. Two coffees (because Burger Time is also Coffee Time and uses Flying M's Purple Bean Coffee). A bag of food to go (because it's one of those iconic Western walk-up/drive-thru kind of joints). We picnicked in the parking lot of Cassia Park. I took the built-like-a-brick bacon, egg, red potato and cheese burrito ($3.89). He took the sausage, egg and cheese croissant ($3.89).
"Did you see her peel and cut garlic to make our food?" I asked. We traded breakfasts. "This pico is ridiculous," he said. I agreed. Fresh tomatoes and onions, and just enough chopped jalapeno for a morning nasal clearing. We traded again.
"This burrito is solid. I don't think I can finish it." I pulled out a long strip of extra crispy bacon before calling uncle and handing it back over to my companion who polished off the croissant sandwich and the burrito and then declared it was time to go back to bed.
An hour later I sat at my desk, eyeing a half-roll of Rolaids, and realized something was missing from breakfast: The ensuing gut bomb.
Patty, too, mentioned the absent breakfast belly ache a few days later, while she was talking me into a chocolate shake. She said it was because her daughter Wendy, who mans the breakfast shift, doesn't fry the potatoes in the built-like-a-brick burrito. Then she said she puts the whole family to work, motioning to the two girls in the kitchen--her daughter and granddaughter. Patty sold me on the chocolate milkshake with local Cloverleaf milk, which is exactly the kind of thing Idaho Preferred's only fast food restaurant should be doing and it's exactly the kind of thing that sets Burger Time apart.
--Rachael Daigle's monthly budget includes antacid expenses.
Boise Weekly sends two reviewers to every restaurant we review. Read what our other reviewer had to say about Patty's Burger Time.