SLIDERS

1 1 9 R S L I D E R S J U L I E S H E E H A N Sliders pop up on menus in L.A. as if they weren’t mere hamburgers, the shrunken field of perception meant to boost their taste or price. Their pickled egos, their dainty cachet strand me. I order fish in ancient parchment. Having attended to words, I’m not the type to order around my appetite by changing up the pitch: a burger’s a burger, not comment on want. A slider’d run for o≈ce on wedging an issue between two pledges to undo some good because it goes to someone else deprived of beef. No, I can’t swallow hedging my vote, such whimsy at the plate, the herds ignoring how menus never eat their words. ...