I love Fergburger. I love the variety, the size and the taste!
Oh, the taste!
And the crowds–just last night someone ate the Big Al and a large chips (the Big Al “delivers a double serving of prime New Zealand beef, lashings of bacon, a whole lotta cheese, 2 eggs, beetroot, lettuce, tomato, red onion, relish and a big wad of aoli”). Funny thing, not only was he the skinniest person in line, he finished the whole thing! Living proof, ladies and gentlemen! Although, I’m not sure he could have done it if it weren’t for the booze…
That being said, Queenstown is a place that runs on tourism and hospitality, especially its bars. Fergburger, like these bars, happens to stay open just as late. Now, close your eyes and imagine…well, don’t close your eyes.
Just imagine (we’ve all been here), you’ve been out all night, the drinks seem cheaper, the girls a bit prettier, but there’s something missing. And it doesn’t take long to realize what it is.
Fergburger.
Ah yes. How we all love it. As I write this I’m craving another one (I don’t think I’ve even digested the “Tropical Swine” I ordered last night! It’s actually a problem. There’s the old saying ‘too much of a good thing.’ Normally I’ll take every bit of ‘good’ I can, but now I understand the ‘too much’ bit. I’ve been in Queenstown for about two weeks now and have frequented the Ferg about four or five times at this point.
Not good on the ol’ gut and not good on the ol’ wallet. I’m struggling here people.
I do love food, and I do love drink. And I don’t think I’ve got (too much) of a problem with either one, but put them together and almost anybody has a problem. I’m really enjoying the beer in New Zealand–it goes down smooth and the basic on-tap beers actually taste really good. With good drink goes good food, and that’s where Ferburger comes in. It just feels right.
But when you wake up the next morning you feel regret.
“Wait, did I…? Oh no. I did.”
And everybody knows what kind of night you’ve had when you say “I ended up at Fergburger last night.”
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