I want you to forget everything you know about hamburgers. This recipe will change your fundamental understanding of the beloved American standard, and if you serve it at your July 4th cookout, people will be struck mute with awe.

Start with hamburger meat, obviously. "I'm sorry, start with what?" Are you not paying attention? "Oh! Right. Sorry, you told me to forget everything I know. I was pretending."

Great. Now, do not choose the lean meat. Get the 70/30, or 65/35. Cook a package of bacon in the air fryer. Pro tip: Remove it from the package first.

While it cooks, get an empty plastic yogurt cup from the recycling bin. Wash it. Remember that the dog probably licked it clean; wash it again. Place the cup in the sink drain. Pour the run-off bacon fat into the cup, set aside. Repeat until the entire package of bacon is, as we kitchen-savvy folk like to say, "cooked."

Add some Worcestershire sauce to the meat. If there are guests present, pronounce it "Wor-chest-er-shire" with such precise and exacting diction that they suddenly wonder if they've been saying it wrong. "Don't you mean woosta-sure?"

"Well, I would if I were the common sort of person who spoke as if his gob was shot with Novocain, but because I'm not, I'll say it as God and King intended. And could you hand me those shell-ays?" "You mean the shallots?" "Oh, dear. Someone hasn't been to France."

When you are done making your guests feel uncultured for no good reason, pour the bacon fat into the meat. Shape into patties. This is the difficult part, because the combination of the 70/30 meat and the bacon fat makes structural cohesion quite difficult. But just as the clouds of celestial gas once coalesced to form stars, and lava hardened into rock, so will you eventually triumph.

Place the burgers in the air fryer. "Wait!" you call out. "It's the 4th. You're not using the grill?" No, because the drippings will ignite, and the entire grill will be engulfed in flames of the sort most commonly seen in uncapped oil-well fires.

After six minutes, flip the burgers. They will fall apart, so prepare needle and thread for mending. Top with sharp cheddar cheese, bacon, of course, and a sprinkle of diced raw white onions and pickles. If people prefer them plain, they are wrong and should be corrected.

Do not set out ketchup or mustard. Trust me. One bite, and no one will want to adulterate the glory with condiments. Eyes will widen. Compliments will issue forth in a ceaseless stream, flecked with small pieces of pickle.

"Wherever did you get this recipe?" they will ask.

"It's mine," says my friend the Giant Swede, who taught me all this, so maybe don't invite him.