Mad cow worries digested with ease

I was way ahead of the curve on mad cow disease.

When I saw that pathetic, dying, dancing British cow on television six years ago, I gave up my most cherished vice, cheeseburgers. I had my final, delicious burger at Ruby’s Choice on Commercial Street in Portland on Mother’s Day weekend, 1997.

It was fabulous.

I believe that before that weekend, I had consumed more cheeseburgers than anyone on Earth. I had more burgers than Wimpy, best friend of Popeye. The only days I didn’t have a cheeseburger were the days I had two.

It was David Achorn’s fault. He opened the Coffee Shop on Rockland’s Main Street and decided to make the best cheeseburgers ever, with just a little grease leaking into the roll, served with fresh tomatoes and lettuce and fries, of course. The best part about David’s shop was, if you were between expense checks, you could always order the burger, charge it, or “put the slip in the drawer” for later payment.

Even the slips were covered with burger grease.

Working as a reporter places you in strange places at stranger times. If you were stuck on the road, a Big Mac would do in a pinch. It was almost food. For reasons I cannot explain, food tasted the best to me at about 9 p.m., or about the time I would be driving home from still another city council meeting, and sure enough, I would pass a McDonald’s. I am a weak man. The problem with Mcburgers was they were like Chinese food. You would always be hungry two hours later.

When you had an Achornburger, you were good for four, five hours at least.

With my mass consumption of burgers, I figured I was a top candidate for mad cow disease, even though the strange malady was then confined to foreign shores. I stopped cold turkey, even without the benefit of a few weeks at Betty Ford.

Mind over matter, or fatter.

Now I choose chicken or fish over burgers. There are problems here, as well. I know all about the mercury content in fish and the endangered species problems. Now I am waiting for some strange poultry disease that makes you dance around, walk backward, vote Republican and buy Snoop Doggy Dogg records.

Now that the mad cow disease has made its way across the ocean to Washington state, I feel vindicated in my burger ban.

The disease, bovine spongiform encephalitis, attacks a cow’s brain and turns it into a sponge. People who eat the infected cows can get Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, causing similar problems in the human brain. If I am going to turn my brain into a sponge (a process already half-completed), then I am going to enjoy the process.

As God is my witness, I now actually eat Boca Burgers, when I get the overwhelming desire for a burger. For the uninformed meat eaters, Boca Burgers are made out of soy products. The secret is to get ravenously hungry. First, you microwave the fake meat for one minute, Then you put the burger in a real (iron) frying pan with onions and mushrooms and a pinch of garlic. You must apply Worcestershire sauce to both sides as the fake burger is cooking at 3 minutes per side, then apply Lorraine Swiss cheese just before taking it from the pan. It also must be served on a toasted roll.

I know, I know.

I never expected to eat soy products either.

But it’s better than turning what’s left of your brain into a sponge.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.