Walking into a food festival with the explicit intent of expanding your culinary horizons is a beautiful lie we tell ourselves.

You tell yourself you will sample the artisanal yak milk, but then your companion encounters their personal culinary savior and all logic evaporates.

Chris immediately abandoned all sense of adventure because Bless this Burger was operating a booth, and his brain simply short-circuited.

He calls them God’s burgers with the unwavering conviction of a man who has witnessed a genuine miracle on a toasted brioche bun.

Have you ever noticed how quickly your dietary principles disintegrate when someone shouts the name of your favorite comfort food across a crowded field?

I intended to resist, even though my own intense cravings had been gnawing at me for weeks, because wasting a festival slot on something I can track down on a normal weekend felt deeply wring to me.

Chris returned with an order of cheese curds and a profound apology from the staff because these were not their usual legendary curds.

Their standard appetizers are blessed by a celestial choir, while these backup options were deemed merely terrestrial.

The basket contained either 10 or 12 beautifully fried cubes.

I do not know which of their curd options garners you more value, or if the universe just balances the mass of the cheese out in the end.

I decided to investigate this alleged downgrade by hijacking one giant fried square from the container.

The crispy golden exterior shattered instantly to reveal a molten, gooey core of pure bovine euphoria.

It lacked the aggressive garlic punch of their traditional recipe, but the raw richness of the cheese was undeniable.

It is a strange psychological phenomenon when an establishment apologizes for serving you something that tastes like a direct message from the heavens.

Who cares about a minor recipe adjustment when the substitute still obliterates damn near every other curd in the country?

I tell everyone that I was never a burger guy until Bless this Burger completely rewired my neural pathways.

You need to actively hunt down their current location and allow their food to dismantle your existing worldview.

What is the absolute maximum distance you would drive right now to experience a completely life changing meal?

This Chop’s Guide to the Galaxy Food Review was sponsored by Drizzle.

Drizzle is a two year old mystery mix who weighs 70 lbs and carries a striking brindle coat that looks like a beautiful chaotic watercolor painting. Her exact breed lineage is anyone’s guess, making her a genomic wild card who completely outclasses the standard canine categories. She absolutely loves hitting the pavement for long walks to explore the world with her people, even though the loud shelter environment is still a bit intimidating for her right now. She is currently figuring out that she is safe at her own relaxed pace, displaying a level of patience that puts the average human waiting in a long grocery line to absolute shame.

Interestingly, food is not really her main motivation yet, which is completely baffling to anyone who treats a regular dinner order like a major life event. Instead, she trades strictly in pure human affection. She has a unique habit of coming in close for a hug until she is standing completely eye to eye with you, which might sound wild until you experience how incredibly gentle and sweet she is about the interaction. She gets along fine with her canine neighbors at the shelter, but a mandatory meet and greet is required to make sure your existing dogs are fully on board with the arrangement. Are you ready to upgrade your home with a gorgeous, loving companion who prefers real connections over a bowl of kibble?

If you want to skip the puppy chaos and bring home a gentle soul, you need to go close the deal. Get in contact with the Trumbull County Pound at 7501 Anderson Avenue in Warren, Ohio, or call 330 675 2787, or hit up Chop’s Guide and we will see if we can help.