Tucker’s Impossible Burger (And Their Impossibly Clean Tables)

Last month, while attending a TLO group outing at an Energy FC match, our delightful, behind-the-scenes wonder Beth mentioned her long-term veganism and how Tucker’s, the whimsical onion burger locality, had recently introduced their “found in nature”-based Impossible Burger to the masses.

Almost as if on cue, editor Patrick told me to go forth and check it out.

Returning to Tucker’s was a mostly bittersweet affair for me; while I have always appreciated their hipster-styled onion burgers, I’ve always felt out-of-place in there, especially when dealing with their service: from my order being forgotten and left to freeze on their countertop, to the counter-help and their intense cleaning of the tables as I was still eating, after a while, it became a bit too much for me and my dining dollars.

However, I must note that these experiences had always occurred at the Tucker’s at 324 N.W. 23rd, so, that being said, I decided that to try the aforementioned Impossible Burger that I would go to the Tucker’s in Nichols Hills at 5740 N. Classen Blvd. #3; an upscale burger joint surrounded by all the “better-than-you” class that the Hills have to offer—surely my personal time with an Impossible Burger would be recognized and valued, right?

The afternoon I went, it had truly been a miserable day; the rain wouldn’t stop beating on my green mac. Luckily, the interior beyond the great glass doors were warm and mostly inviting, the smiling faces of the Hillians on their lunch breaks, the smell of Tucker’s unmistakable onions on the grill. And as much as I wanted a single onion burger with cheese, I dutifully ordered the burger that I was asked to, the Impossible Burger ($9.75).

Having been forgotten about in the past, I’m now trained like a fast food-loving dog to wait at the window, watching every bag that comes up, making sure to grab my order before they even call my name. Order in hand, I found a chair and unfolded this prescient foodstuff out on the table; made from wheat protein, coconut oil, potato protein and heme—whatever that is—it very much looked like a classic Tucker’s burger and, even more incredibly, smelled like the real thing as well.

You know, even the taste is very reminiscent of their typical beef patties—I’m willing to bet that I personally could not tell the difference if you laid both patties in front of me. With the proper amounts of onions, lettuce, pickles and mustard—and a heaping helping of their unnaturally green jalapenos—it made for a practically delicious burger, with the only real difference being the salt content, but I suppose I’m the only one who can taste that these days.

About halfway through, I felt as though I had a great lunch at Tucker’s; I had taken all the precautions necessary and came out on top…until an employee came over and mindlessly cleaned the tables right next to us, splashing table-cleaner over some of my food. Letting loose the sigh of a man who should’ve knew better, I just gave up; my dining partner, on the other hand, went up to complain, a majority of the spray misting on his arm and burger.

Packing up my few uneaten remnants, ready for the trashcan on the way out, I thought about how much I truly did like the Impossible Burger—and really all of Tucker’s eats—but, not mincing words, absolutely cannot stand dealing with their inner-workings. Maybe I would’ve had better luck at the Norman establishment, you think?

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