The ever-improving standard of the brioche burger bun is a heartening thing, and this is one of the better examples
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bacon cheeseburger
We’ve finally got proper American cheeseburgers being sold by multiple vendors in the capital at reasonable prices.
It’s Friday night, and we’re lamenting the lack of excitement our last few burgers have delivered. We wanted something fucking good. Little did we know we only had to wait 12 measly hours…
In a car park, at the rather lovely Brockley market, you’ll find three youthful dudes with a grill banging out some pretty buzzworthy burgers.
They look like they’re in their early twenties, wearing obscure hardcore band tees and American Apparel hoodies. And honestly, we were kind of jealous. Why the hell weren’t we this proactive when we were their age?? We ordered all three of the burgers on offer, and then impatiently watched the impressively slick cooking from the grill boss and efficient construction from his buddies.
And, well, the burgers are excellent. Let’s have a closer look at a three course burger lunch:
Starter - The Mother Flipper
Their take on a classic cheeseburger, and our standard ‘control’ burger.
The first bite of the smashed, well-seasoned patty hits with a salty, deep meatiness from the concentrated juices pressed into the crust on the grill. It’s brilliant. The cheese is substantial, two slices thickly melted perfectly over the patty with a rather ingenious homemade cloche. A lattice of ketchup just takes the line over a spiral of French’s in the mix. Finished with some shredded iceberg and a beefy slice of pickle in the middle, it’s a very accomplished take on a classic.
And the brioche bun, from an undisclosed ‘artisan bakery in North London’ (we all need a secret ingredient or two) is impressive - solid, substantial and just soft enough, it contains everything without struggling from all the juice.
Mains: Double Candy Bacon Flipper
Two slightly smaller cheese-covered patties contained in a similiar set up to the Motherflipper, except with sweet, sticky candied bacon (which had a similar smokiness to Oscar Mayer). Nice to see a double patty bacon option here.
Pudding: Chilli Flipper
A really awesome and original take on a chilli burger, the pepper and onion mixture on the patty packs the heat of a kebab shop chilli sauce on one level, with a fragrant chinese-style lemongrass finish. It’s a complex and memorable kick, which lingers nicely.
Boom. Three superb courses.
These are really solid sandwiches prepared with startup, haphazard love: from the grill that occasionally teases hot and cold to the cunningly homemade cloches, by a guy you might bump into at the Turtle.
One final thing to say. It would be very feasible for someone to just order a cheeseburger and write it off as a competent Meatwagon rip-off. We recall this happening to the Lucky Chip guys last year and it saddens us enormously.
To those people we’d just like to say the following:
- Christ guys, it’s OK for there to be more than one Proper American Cheeseburger in London. FFS.
- If they’re similar then that’s because they’ve both Done It Right.
We’ve finally got proper American cheeseburgers being sold by multiple vendors in the capital at reasonable prices. Party times.
So this is a must return for us, and a must venture south for all you lot.1
Get down there. This Saturday. GO ON.
- Rob.
- Simon.
- It would also be great to see these guys join the ranks of the Eat Street collective. Nudge, nudge. ↩
Our expectations were pretty sky high for Burger & Lobster, the specialist joint from the Goodman guys.
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.
“It is ridiculous how succinctly the name of the place describes the burgers they sell.”
Everything in this place is simple and unfussy - the interior is plain red and white, in a mid-century diner fast-food joint stylee.
The menu is as bare as it could be. Even the font they use feels simple. They’ve arguably nicked some tricks from the Five Guys and In ‘n Out playbook (even to the point where bacon is available, but not on the menu), but then Portlanded it up to match the ridonkulously hip district it’s situated in.
The burgers are strictly no-nonsense. And they are incredible.
The first thing you notice is how fresh everything is: the lettuce is alarmingly crisp, the onions are uber-crunchy, the tomato is taut and full of flavour, the swiss was melty, but not greasy at all. The patty was cooked medium to perfection; the meat was soft and seasoned well. Even the brioche bun tasted like it had just been baked, and is exemplary.
What made it all the more surprising was they used English style rashers for the bacon, something we usually frown upon at B/A, but in this instance seemed to work well. As did their take on ketchup, which rounded out the burger’s flavour brilliantly.
It is ridiculous how succinctly the name of the place describes the burgers they sell. When they arrived, we both commented on how small our burgers were, but their size belies how much is actually there - by the time we’d eaten them, we were both more than adequately full.
I’m practically gushing about this place, but honestly, it was the burger of my trip. You know a burger joint is good when a queue forms at 11.30 in the morning.
…and I haven’t even mentioned the truffle fries, which were terrific too.
- Rob.
OK, as a precursor to this review, let me throw down some B/A burger theory for y’all. Burgers are usually served up in one of two ways:
- The ‘Open’ Burger
Whereby the lid of the bun is placed separately on the plate or partially resting on the edge of a burger, revealing the meaty innards and other contents. Occasionally the bun lid will be bare, occasionally it will play host to the salad elements of the burger, occasionally the ‘salad’ will be on the side of the plate, occasionally they will place it on the burger. Condiments may or may not be included. There appear to be no steadfast rules on this. Usually applied by restaurant burger offerings.
- The ‘Closed’ Burger
The bun lid is on top of the burger and all composite ingredients are already tucked in. For the most part, this is the method of the convenience burger industry. Now, the ‘Open’ method innately suggests that the burger is incomplete and that the eater will add his or her condiments, the salad items of his or her choosing, and close the bun content in the knowledge that personal preference has been satisfied in this area. But come on guys, this is real laziness. Some of the genuine joy of trying a new burger for me is seeing how the place has made it and what ingredients they have used.
A burger should be served as a whole and should be a product of the flavour choices the chef has chosen to combine into a good sandwich. Leaving the top open is close to heresy in this respect and is a major bugbear of mine.
Like, a restaurant wouldn’t serve a chicken and mushroom pie with the pasty top at the side and the chicken and mushroom in separate dishes so the diner can decide how the meat to veg ratio is best would they? No. Exactly.
So with that all off my chest, let’s move on to the Joe Allen Bacon Cheeseburger…
Everything about this burger is pretty good:
- the bun is a robust yet satisfyingly squidgy brioche
- the patty is thick with quality meat
- they don’t half fling a fuck-ton of nicely melted cheese on it.
But then we get to the ‘Open’ situation.
Two spears of pickle and a whole, thick slice of raw onion cosy up to the side of the burger for potential insertion. Ketchup and American mustard are requested. Everyone at the table sets about constructing their burger like kids eagerly making a space station out of lego: I add two of the larger rings of onion, both pickle spears and, using the tried and tested Meatwagon technique, I alternately lattice my ketchup and mustard onto the bun lid.
Then we eat.
Exclamations of how good the burger is bounce around the table, and yes, my burger tastes kinda great: the right sauce distribution, heavy on the pickle, relatively light on the onion. But then, it should taste how I like it. I CONSTRUCTED IT.
And this is the point I’m trying to make: I don’t want to know have a good idea of how the burger is going to taste, I want it to be a mystery. That’s why we love burgers so much, because each one can be unique even though the basics are essentially the same. So even though I enjoyed it, there was a slight pang of disappointment.
- Rob.
The Joe Allen burger is an off-menu “secret” item.
…floured baps just don’t do it for me - they lack any bite.
Mum popped to town the other day. I met up with her on the pedestrian equivalent of the A303 during the Summer Holidays, the South bank, and headed for a quick late lunch.
Now I quite like Giraffe. The world-cafe vibe is still kind of novel I guess, and some of their breakfast/brunch offerings are more inventive than the average restaurant, but my burger expectations weren’t that high.
I ordered their eponymous offering. This is what arrived:
The burger looked like it had been charred by a shitfaced dad at a family barbecue, and the cheese looked burnt. Seriously, who grills processed cheese? EVERYONE knows it burns to a rank crusty skin when you grill it. I mean, I had requested American instead of the standard menu Cheddar, but still, you’re a fucking chef dude. Not impressed.
But then I chopped it open and my spirits lifted a bit. The slight crust on the burger added nice texture to the otherwise soft and moist innards. The mayo was present in abundance, although the chipotle sauce wasn’t. At all. The standards were all there to add to the classic burger taste, but floured baps just don’t do it for me - they lack any bite.
Sounds like I’m hating on it right? Honestly, it was pretty ok for a chain restaurant effort. BUT - and maybe I’m still monetarily stuck in the early naughties - £11 for a burger like this still seems pretty steep.
In other news, my mum loved her ribs.
- Rob.
