We were drunk. We were in Downtown Los Angeles. We wanted some junk food. A bouncer told us to bowl down to Spring Street, and there, we found L.A. Café. That bouncer was a right geezer.
Viewing entries tagged
California
Firstly, the burgers are huge. Bloody huge. Like ‘we’re gonna need a bigger boat’ huge.
The slice of tomato? Huge.
The grilled onions? Guess what, HUGE.
This stuff shouldn’t be served for brunch, it is so moreishly dessert-like.
With deceptively soft ‘n fluffy French-baguette-style bread, the perfectly heavy-but-not-too-heavy whipped cream and jammy sweet blackberry sauce welded together at the bottom of the plate like a soup. Mopping it up with the bread was like eating a decadently syrupy bread and butter pudding.
It was filling as all hell as too: the perfect follow up to the previous Four Loko’d evening.
A fine breakfast option if you’re passing through Santa Barbara.
- Rob.
I was in somewhat of a touchy mood when we finally arrived at the Santa Monica branch of this rapidly growing little chain (there are five outposts in LA now, with more on the way). Principally, because nothing on the website tells you it’s in a fucking Fred Segal store, and partly, because Google Maps sucks. So we walked circled a couple of blocks for fifteen minutes trying to find it.
So, note to any non Santa Monica residents looking for this place, if you see spot Fred fucking Segal, you’ve found it.
I ordered the SoCal burger and my dining companion ordered the Manly Burger (because he so is). When they arrived they looked brilliant, like straight-out-of-the-dressing-room pretty. Mood swiftly reversed.
The bun gets top billing here, as it’s amongst the best I’ve ever tasted, probably THE best.
It’s got the shine of a brioche (with their signature ‘U’ toasted into the top half), but isn’t really a brioche. It’s chewy, but super-squidgy. Substantial, but not stodgy. A superb example of how well a burger bun can be made.
And there’s definitely a can’t-quite-put-my-finger-on-it extra dimensional taste to the patty that makes it unique, an almost kinda hint of gravy. That signature umami. Hard to describe without over-hyphenating.
You can see from the pictures the meat is soft and ever so loosely formed; the result being it crumbles away in your mouth after each bite, mingling with everything else in the burger: the full hit in every bite. The consistency of the cheese is spot on and the house sauce, a homage to In ‘n Out’s ‘Spread’ if I’m not mistaken, adds a fresh tang without overwhelming it.
The only terribly small issue: the loose grind of the meat and the slightly anaemic bottom bun caused the burger to fall apart about three quarters of the way through, so the final few bites were frantic, morsel-rescuing mouthfuls.
The Manly Burger, their take on a bacon cheeseburger - with it’s thick lardons and crispy onion strings - looked, and apparently tasted, bloody epic.
“No unsettling flavour combinations or trickery. It’s just a good burger. Craft over science.”
There’s certainly a touch of Heston Blumenthalerie in the way these guys go about experimenting with different flavours and ingredients, not to mention their namesake fifth taste. The dude that owns the chain certainly talks almost evangelically about the painstaking construction of each burger. And it shows. Everything in it is crafted from scratch, and we applaud the wicked craftsmanship on display. Unlike Heston though, there’s nothing weird here. No unsettling flavour combinations or trickery.
It’s just a good burger. Craft over science.
Umami is an important place. Arguably, they’re at the epicentre of the quality mid-priced resurgence which is having a major impact on this side of the pond too. And for that reason, as well as a damn fine and totally unique burger, Umami is smack bang at the top of our Essential LA Burgers list, cosying up to In-n-Out. Go.
- Rob.
“You’ve got to do something pretty remarkable for the hyper-connected SF populous to notice you…”
Straight off the plane after a delayed flight, we dump the bags at the hotel, hail a cab and head straight for Roam Artisan Burgers which sits more or less in the middle of Union Street. The next time you’re in San Francisco, I recommend you do exactly the same thing because Roam has my top burger of 2011. It’s called the French and Fries, and here it is:
A luxurious combo of creamy California avocado, dijon mustard, melted gruyere and watercress with a few truffle-oiled parmesan fries poking out just for the sheer hell of it. This thing was a fucking revelation. Roam aren’t scared to shift from burger tradition and introduce a few unorthodox ingredient combinations, and frankly they nail it every time. You’ve got to do something pretty remarkable for the hyper-connected SF populous to notice you (and form the consequent, ever-present queue out the door) and Roam have done that with laid-back aplomb.
Each burger is put together with genuine care, and all the individual ingredients are the best they can be. The bun is firm but squidgy, the patties are flawlessly cooked and the meat flavour is never masked by the addition of various homemade sauces.
To gush further, all of Roam’s speciality burgers cost eight bucks each.
Eight dollars.
It’s so unfair.
I’ve not had anything as confidently brilliant as the F&F anywhere else this year.
For the sake of comparison, we tried the Heritage burger. It’s a slightly more traditional bacon cheeseburger, albeit with fontina cheese instead of Swiss or American. It was also effortlessly competent.
A quick mention must also go to the ‘Fry-fecta’, a selection of all three types of fries: russet potato, sweet potato and courgette with onion. Supermodel looks, salty more-ishness and not a hint of grease anywhere to be found. Sharing them almost broke out into a fight. Heaven as starch.
I cannot stress enough how much of an SF must Roam is.
EIGHT FUCKING DOLLARS!
- Simon.
