“On a scale of 1 to 5, how good was that burger?”

Doc set down his dishrag and tilted his head slightly, concentrating on an invisible point in the distance. This, I’ve learned, is his thinking face.

“Five,” he said with conviction, and resumed his washing. He placed a wet, soapy plate into the top shelf of his dishwasher and picked up the next one.

Cleaning the kitchen after dinner is one of those grown-up rituals I greatly admire but haven’t yet adopted myself, like jogging before breakfast or paying my taxes in January. I’m still holding out hope he’ll offer to clean my kitchen sometime, but so far no luck.

“But,” he added slowly, “it’s not really a burger. A mushroom isn’t a burger, even if it’s delicious. It’s a sandwich. If that’s a burger then everything in a bun is a burger.”

He nestled another plate into place. “Then a steak sandwich would be a burger, too. That’s not how it works.”

“I don’t know how it works,” I said loftily, “I’ve never had a hamburger.” 

In the 1980s growing up (mostly) vegetarian was unusual, at least in my neighborhood and especially in a family full of carnivores. No, I’m not eating that! I would firmly tell them—whoever “they” happened to be at the time—no, it looks gross! 

And, as an only child with a formidable stubborn streak, I made it through the first thirty-some years of life with nary a hamburger touching my lips. 

Perhaps the heart of the issue came from my suspicion of condiments. I scowled at those neon squeeze bottles of ketchup and mustard. Mayonnaise was the bane of my existence. Pickles were fine, but relish (Also neon! Why?!) was a no-go. No, I would shake my little head, with mouth pursed and arms crossed. No, I’m not eating that. 

Will I ever eat a hamburger? Maybe. 

(I’ll still pass on the ketchup, though. Thanks.)

Doc promises that his hamburgers are delicious. I told him I will consider it, but I need some time to come around. Change does not come easy for us stubborn folk, you know. Until that fated day arrives, portobello burgers sandwiches are the name of my summer-grilling game.

It’s surprisingly simple to get that meaty, mouth-watering, groan-inducing savoriness from portobellos thanks to the amino acid glutamate, which occurs naturally in mushrooms, tomatoes, and many cheeses as well as fermented soy products. Pair your portobello with another glutamate-heavy product like tamari or soy sauce, and you’ve got an umami-licious flavor bomb just begging for a spot on the grill.

We topped our portobellos with a few leaves of fresh, blush-tipped lettuce from the farmer’s market and a chunky avocado dip that’s not guacamole and definitely not pico de gallo. I dubbed it “salsamole,” and Doc . . . well, he doesn’t call it anything. He just eats it.

When preparing the salsamole, it’s best to keep a bag of tortilla chips handy so you can taste as you mix. You know, to make sure it’s perfect.

It’s not snacking, it’s cooking.

(“Tasting is important,” Doc proclaimed as he put yet another loaded chip in his mouth. “Gotta get it right.” I scoffed at him and later stuffed two in my mouth while he was out checking the grill.)

Doc insists that the salsamole goes on top of the grilled portobello, but I think it goes underneath to catch all of the smoky, umami-loaded juices from the ‘shroom. I’ve dubbed this dispute #BunGate and I don’t think it will ever be resolved.

Do what you want, but you should really do it my way.

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This recipe is accidentally vegan, purposefully vegetarian, and absolutely delicious.

One Perfect Portobello Burger Sandwich

Serves 4

4 Portobello caps, brushed clean and stem removed

4 Hamburger buns

4 – 8 leaves of lettuce, washed and patted dry

Portobello Marinade

1/4c oil

2 T tamari or soy sauce

1 garlic clove, peeled and crushed

1/4 t red pepper flakes

Salt and Pepper to taste—depending on your brand of tamari, you might not need salt at all!

Salsamole

2 avocados, pitted and diced into large pieces

2 small tomatoes, preferably Roma, diced into bite-sized pieces

1 small handful of cilantro, with stems, roughly chopped

1 shallot or 1/4c of red onion, finely diced

1-2 garlic cloves, finely diced

1 jalapeño, deseeded and sliced OR

1/2 t red pepper flakes, to taste

Juice of 1/2 lime

Salt and pepper to taste, about 1/4 t each

Directions 

1. Brush any dirt off of the portobello caps and remove the stem.

2. Gently mix the oil, tamari, garlic, pepper flakes, salt, and pepper in a bowl and dip mushroom caps. Spoon a little inside the cap and drain. Set aside on a rimmed dish or large plate, basting with remaining marinade every ten minutes or so for about 30 minutes.

3. In another bowl, mix the avocado, cilantro, shallot, garlic, and lime juice together—we usually mash it with a fork to a slightly-chunky consistency, but you do you.

4. Fold in tomato, jalapeño (if using) salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes.

5. Top each cap with another grind of pepper and a sprinkling of pepper flakes if desired. Grill on both sides until warmed through and slightly charred. Gotta get those grill lines!

6. Lightly toast the buns and layer portobello, lettuce, and about 1/2 c of the salsamole onto the bun of your choice (see above for the #BunGate controversy).

7. Eat with abandon, preferably outside on a warm summer evening.