Restaurant Review: CHOM Burger. Provo, Utah.

My daughter Sarah can be a mite importunate at times. For instance, the other day she mentioned a burger joint she was interested in knowing more about; CHOM Burgers at 45 West 300 North. In an off-hand manner I told her I might scope it out someday when I felt like it.

Her cutting glance told me at once I had made a huge tactical blunder.

"Well, er, I'm sure I'll get to it pretty darn soon -- don't worry" I said meekly. She continued to glare at me.

"Wretch!" she finally replied. "Do as I bid you within forty-eight hours or I'll have your flabby paunch sliced up and dried for beef jerky!"

I groveled at her feet in abject terror.

"Yes, mistress" I moaned. "It shall be done!"

"See that it is, worm" she hissed at me, then turned to mount her fire-spitting griffin to fly back to her enchanted castle in the Black Forest.

She gets touchy like that sometimes . . .

I ordered the CHOM Burger, sweet potato fries, and a medium chocolate shake on this beautiful Saturday in November. This is real Trump weather (I call it that because it's so unexpectedly mild, and because it annoys a lot of people).
You don't speak your order to anybody; you have to fill out a form to hand to the person behind the counter:

I can't imagine why they do it that way. The menu is sparse and uncomplicated. When I filled mine out I felt like I was being sent to the principal's office with a note from my teacher. But on the other hand, they do have a cool Star Wars mural done with white chalk:

My meal cost $13.48. The burger was excellent. It had a deeply meaty and satisfying taste, and it held together remarkably well -- not falling apart into soggy pieces as so many hamburgers like to do.

My chocolate shake was also superb. Thick, but not too thick to suck up slowly, savoring every mouthful. Now the sweet potato fries were a problem. They tasted fine, but whoever prepares them for frying is a bit lax about getting the skin off. Fried regular potato skin is fine; but fried sweet potato skin takes on a gritty unchewableness similar to tin foil that made my fries unpalatable. I still ate some; they were that good.

So I'm giving the place Four Burps. But do yourself a favor and order the regular fries instead of the sweet potato fries. That's what I'll do when I take my daughter Sarah, She Who Must Be Obeyed, there in the near future.