A “Miller Bakery” bun.
Two halves bond as one, until split and toasted separately. The singeing broiler changes them, making each half new. When they meet again, they’re unrecognizable to each other.
Three strips of breakable bacon.
Solid and smoky, it’s taste isn’t mistaken. Place directly under the top bun, unwaver in its location.
Slice of American cheese.
One piece covers the top bun 360 degrees. Personal to the top bun’s texture and placement, the molten drips can reach the bottom.
A third pound piece of meat.
The substance shared by the two buns is sweet. Juicey and prepared for both buns to support, both halves take on the weight of the meat’s might.
Slice of monterey jack cheese.
One piece covers the bottom bun 360 degrees. Lighter yet stronger, it closes the bottom bun. A flavor and experience that the top bun won’t taste, yet the sandwich isn’t the same without it.
White cheddar cheese curds.
Little pockets of joy, filled with cheese surrounded by words. The last morsel of taste before the bottom buns buckles.
The Wisconsin Cheesehead Burger: $6.49
A final barrier holding the brig together, but without the two buns together, the operation is disaster. Sandwich starts the same way, it's what’s inside that makes it unique.