BurGer Memories

 Back in the 80s (funny to think of that as a point in history), my friend D and I went to university together - and we had a Tuesday night ritual of testing cocktails at the University club bar and then hitting downstairs at The Terminus in The Valley where there was no cover charge and great music to dance to and the crowd was filled with people who were either gay or gay-friendly, and the thing about being a gay or gay-friendly crowd was, bedsides the not being hit on, was the lack - or near lack - of violence within. 

The only violence I remember in The Term were when hate groups - or amped up young men from elsewhere - would invade. (*)

Sometime after midnight we would have been making such monumental decisions as - Kebab and The Beat or Catch a Cab and head Back to Mine for a BurGer.

Back in the 80s, the local Woolies had a number of initiatives to entice certain demographics to their stores.

One of the great things about being a supermarket is EVERYBODY is your target market. Theoretically, you should not fail to make a living (unless you run into modern economics where it's all about controlling the market - or even worse, some other bastard controlling the market. Ahem.)

The local Woolies had had a recent revamp - uber trendy (for the yuppie croud), quiet mornings for the seniors and the harried young Mum's had certain zones of time for their optimal shopping. Apparently if you went on a Thursday night and put your bananas in your basket a certain way you could get more than good bargains from amongst the clientele.

And back in the 80s, they had a red and black and white cardboard box with No-Name Hamburger Patties (Warning: Do Not Thaw Before Cooking) that was found in every university share-house freezer in The Big Smoke - because it was cheap as chips and it was BLODDY MAGIC in soaking up alcohol and ensuring a good night's (or 2-3 hours) sleep before our Wednesday lectures.

While the Pan warmed, our preparation was undertaken. Whatever bread available - this would depend on the local economy or whether anyone had baked or visited family on the weekend - would be slathered with cheap spread and mustard. Salad ingredients included herbs from garden pots and onion - always onion. Sometimes mushrooms. Sometimes egg. Spicy red sauce.

We would expound on philosophy, art, music, literature, fashion - you know, the self-important intense discourse often found  back at 3-4am in the 80s in student share-houses.

It's funny - a rather buff (you know that my eyeshot is shit - and D was a wearer oh spectacles too - so he looked buff at 3-4am from my kitchen window) bloke a house behind and up the hill would often emerge in the kitchen window and appear to be doing something similar - or perhaps involving a baby's bottle, who knows - and our burGers would be sizzling too.

Always absolutely DE-bloddy-licious.

(Review of said burgers on Reddit https://www.reddit.com/r/brisbane/comments/6c8ox2/those_beef_patties_that_are_like_a_centimetre/ )

(Podcast about The Terminus in the 1980s https://lostspacespodcast.com/kurt-luthy/

* - the above podcast mentions a lot about the police brutality and politics of the early 80s. I was there during the Fitzgerald Enquiry which brought to light a lot of what was going on them. According to the podcast, The Terminus when I went was when it was getting lame. Ah well.)