Bourbon Bacon Cheeseburgers -- The Labor Day Grill That Made the Weekend Complete

Labor Day weekend and James and Sam arrived Saturday morning with Otis on a long lead and a duffel bag of clothes and a paper bag of pastries from the bakery in Burlington. Otis greeted Frost with the appropriate degree of caution, having learned from the first introduction in June that Frost was a dog who would tolerate but not welcome enthusiasm, and the two of them settled into a parallel-coexistence arrangement for the weekend, sleeping in different rooms and walking on different leashes and making no real demands of each other. James and Sam slept in the upstairs guest room. I made coffee for all of us in the morning. The kitchen was full in the small comfortable way it is full when family members visit who are also low-maintenance houseguests, which is one of the under-appreciated qualities of family.

The walk in the woodlot happened Saturday afternoon — a long slow circuit of the trail that loops around the property, with the dogs both off-leash for most of it, James and Sam walking ahead and me at the back with my walking stick, the pace deliberately set to my speed. James talked the whole walk about the wedding plans, which are now solidifying into specific decisions — the venue chosen (a small inn in the Adirondacks where Sam's family has a long history), the guest list narrowed to about seventy people, the date set for September of next year. He wanted me to know that they had chosen a venue with good wheelchair access, in case I needed it by then. I told him I appreciated the thought and that I did not currently need it. He said: but in case. I said: in case is fine. We walked on. He asked if I would be willing to do a reading at the ceremony — Frost, perhaps, something short. I said: yes. He said: thank you. We did not say more on the subject. The ask had been made. The yes had been given. The transaction was complete.

I made a labor day cookout supper Saturday — burgers on the grill, corn on the cob from the late row, sliced tomatoes and basil from the garden, an apple pie I had made Friday in anticipation. We ate at the picnic table on the back porch, the four of us (counting the dogs), and the supper was the kind of cookout that stretches into the evening, the conversation going easily through the burgers and the pie and into the second pot of coffee and the fading light. Sam talked about his work as an architect — they specialize in adaptive reuse of old industrial buildings, a kind of work that requires a great deal of patience with the bones of a building and that I found genuinely interesting in the way I find any craft interesting when it is described by someone who knows what they are doing.

Sunday morning I made pancakes with the last of last year's syrup — a batch of buttermilk batter, the cast iron griddle, the pancakes stacked on the warm plate. James and Sam ate four each. Otis got one without syrup, supervised carefully by Sam, and Frost got the small piece of bacon I always slip him under the table for breakfast. The morning was warm and the kitchen was full of the smell of pancakes and bacon and coffee, and I sat at the head of the table with my grandson and his fiance and watched them eat and thought about what it means to be the grandfather who has been to a hundred Labor Day breakfasts and who is, this morning, the host of one for the next generation. The thought was warm. It contained no melancholy, which surprised me. It was simply a good morning, and I let it be a good morning, and we drank our coffee, and the dogs lay on the rug, and the day extended itself the way Labor Day mornings extend themselves, which is gently.

The burgers that Saturday evening were nothing complicated — just what the occasion called for, which is to say they were exactly right. When the grill is lit and the corn is shucked and there’s a pie cooling on the counter, you want a burger that earns its place at the table, and this bourbon bacon cheeseburger is the one I reach for. The bourbon in the patty gives it a depth that pairs well with a late-summer tomato, and the bacon is the kind of detail that makes everyone at the picnic table a little quieter for a moment, which is the highest compliment a burger can receive.

Bourbon Bacon Cheeseburgers

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs ground beef (80/20 blend)
• 2 tablespoons bourbon
• 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 8 strips thick-cut bacon
• 4 slices sharp cheddar cheese
• 4 brioche burger buns, toasted
• Lettuce, sliced tomato, and red onion, for serving
• Mayonnaise or burger sauce, for spreading

Instructions

1. Mix the patties. In a large bowl, combine the ground beef, bourbon, Worcestershire sauce, garlic powder, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Mix gently until just combined — do not overwork the meat. Divide into 4 equal portions and form into patties about 3/4 inch thick, pressing a slight indent into the center of each.
2. Cook the bacon. In a cast iron skillet over medium heat, cook the bacon strips until crisp, about 8–10 minutes. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate and set aside.
3. Heat the grill. Preheat a gas or charcoal grill to medium-high heat. Lightly oil the grates.
4. Grill the burgers. Place patties on the grill and cook for 4–5 minutes per side for medium doneness, or until the internal temperature reaches 160°F. In the last minute of cooking, lay a slice of cheddar over each patty and close the lid to melt.
5. Toast the buns. Place the brioche buns cut-side down on the grill for 1–2 minutes until lightly golden.
6. Assemble and serve. Spread mayonnaise or burger sauce on the toasted buns. Layer with lettuce, a cheeseburger patty, two strips of bacon, tomato, and red onion. Serve immediately alongside corn on the cob and sliced garden tomatoes.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 680 | Protein: 42g | Fat: 38g | Carbs: 32g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 890mg