I spent many summers growing up at overnight camp. It was (and still is as far as I know) predominantly a Northeast, mostly Jewish phenomenon. Your parents pack a heavy trunk full of clothes, snacks, and whatever other doodads you might need, and off you go for eight weeks of freedom from responsible adults. Your overseers (ie, counselors) are usually college students, and, let’s face it, college students are not always the most reliable individuals.
As a kid, it was great.
One of the regular routines at my overnight camp was the weekly cookout. Instead of having to trudge to the dining hall for whatever sludge was being served that day, you would get a delivery of those mostly frozen, flat-as-a-pancake hamburger patties that tasted about the same as they looked. Outside each group of cabins (called “bunks”), there was a fire pit, around which a group of let’s say 25 or so kids and 5 counselors would gather to prepare the evening meal.
First you’d start the fire – but not before sending one of the newbie campers on a wild goose chase around camp asking for the “left handed smoke shifter.” Once the fire was nice and hot, one of the counselors would take charge of cooking the burgers. Nothing fancy – just slap the pinkish-grey patties on the grate and let it go for a few minutes. These were not aspiring chefs at the helm.
But then one summer, I had a counselor who did something a little bit different. As soon as he put one of the thawed patties on the grate, he would slather on a layer of ketchup. The first time he did it, we all looked at him with a “What exactly are you doing?” shrug.
You know what, though? It worked. We were 12-year-olds who had grown used to summers of these burgers tasting like dry charcoal and now they actually tasted halfway decent. The burgers quickly became the stuff of legend around camp – the little secret of the ketchup whisperer.
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been at overnight camp, but cooking the ketchup into hamburger meat is one of the little secrets I’ve taken with me for the rest of my life. Every recent pre-COVID summer, I manned the grill at one of our neighborhood fundraisers for a few hours and had to deal with those pre-frozen, flat-as-a-pancake patties. I used the ketchup slather technique and was consistently bombarded with “These taste so much better than the last guy. What’s your secret?”
Now, when I make burgers at home – and hopefully the same goes for you – the quality of the meat is just a tad better than the frozen patty. Nonetheless, I still rely on the same principle as the ketchup slatherer. When I am forming my hamburger patties, I always add 2-3 spoonfuls of barbecue sauce (this is my standard that I always have ready in my fridge – it stays good for months) to seal in some extra moisture. It’s important not to overdue it or else you may have a burger than falls apart on the grill.
I find that adding some sauce in the preliminary phase avoids the danger of a dry burger no matter if it’s overcooked. My dad for some reason likes his burger well done (don’t try this at home, kids), but even he claims these are juicy burgers when cooked to his desired temperature. When cooked to a perfect medium, they are quite tasty with whatever topping you like. I go for cheddar, bacon, mushrooms, and a sunny side up egg most of the time these days.
It’s these sorts of “life hacks” that we pick up at various points growing up that we cling to as our personalities develop. Maybe you learned that your hair looks better if you brush it with your left hand for exactly 5 minutes. Maybe your doctor learned in medical school that the first question she should ask every patient while looking them in the eye is, “So how are you doing today?” It’s these little things that make us unique, that make us special.
Now go bring me that left-handed smoke shifter – the fumes are getting in my eye.