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.

Mother Flipper

• The Lucky Chip T-bone steak at the Sebright Arms, Hackney

All in all, incredibly unfair.

Sometimes an idea comes along that is so simple, and yet so totally ingenious that you just have to stand up and slow clap the dudes that thought it up, ‘Lucas’ style. So we applaud the comfort food genius that is Los Angeles’ Grilled Cheese Truck.

What’s all the more awesome is that these guys take such a staple, classic, comfort food and reinvent it with panache too. It’s testament to how well they do it that I’ve seen queues for this mobile eatery easily stretch 20-plus long. Our first visit attempt was at the fairly legendary Abbot Kinney First Fridays festival in Venice. The trouble was we’d already tried five trucks by the time we spotted them. Dammit.

And those queues are there for good reason; their Cheesy Mac And Rib is hugely satisfying. The barbecue pork was saucy-sweet, soft and worthy of a place all of its own on a menu. The mac ‘n cheese was heavy on the gooey cheese, sticky yet still trying to escape from every opening, and hinted a savouriness that balanced with the pork brilliantly. One hell of a sandwich.

I’m pretty sure I put this away in under ten mouthfuls it was so good, and if we weren’t going on to somewhere else for more food, I would have had another. A bang up job, and a must for anyone In L.A. who has only got time to visit a handful of food trucks.

• Rob.

[BURNS NIGHT] The Rib Room / Knightsbridge, London

The one sixteenth of Scot that resides in me absolutely bloody loves haggis. And whisky. So I was very excited to get to preview the Burns Night menu at the Rib Room in Knightsbridge. It’s lopped on to the side of the Jumeirah Carlton Tower, just round the corner from Charles and Nigella’s. No, seriously, it’s their local restaurant.

And we can see why. Although we don’t have the right kind of Italian automobile to do Knightsbridge properly, we like to visit the 1% from time to time. The Rib Room is most famous for its Sunday lunch (£55 set menu), but also has a jawdropping wine cellar and humidor.

The haggis here is beautiful, served with a wonderfully pink loin of venison. My favourite course was the cullen skink - an interpretation really, served like a croquette with scallops. Lovely.

Needless to say, the service was impeccable, as you’d expect for the postcode.

If you’re looking for a Burns Night blowout this week, then the Rib Room should be your first port of call. The menu is £50 per person plus wine, and you’ll definitely be wanting to partake of their fine whisky trolley afterwards.

• Simon (who was invited to review the Rib Room).

[PREVIEW] An Honest Burger / Honest Burgers / Brixton, London

Divisive. We’ll give it that.

Dearest Balans,

I had the chance to patronise your Bluewater branch a couple of weeks ago after taking my parents to the cinema (OK, OK, ‘technically’ they took me, but I totally did offer to pay, honest), and partook in one of your eponymous burgers.

I’d just like to say, valiant effort guys. The place was clearly understaffed and if the waiter hadn’t turned up at the second he did, this would be addressed to Jamie’s Italian (the ‘rents are very impatient you see).

The rushed-off-your-feet vibe was evident in the burger when it arrived. It looked worse than something I make for my packed lunch. In a hurry. At 6.45 in the morning. Very slapdash work. Although all the requisite components were in place, the tomato looked like it was trying to make an escape and the cheese, travesty of travesties, was practically cold and just arbitrarily lobbed in. Furthermore, it was presented closed, but with no condiments inside. I’ll spare you the lengthy details as to why whoever decided this was the correct serving suggestion, suffice it to say, do not like.

But alas, the quality of the patty was pretty good - not juice-ridden, but juicy enough - and cooked with precision - seared just enough on the outside for some bite. The bun wasn’t the freshest, but as a whole it wasn’t that bad! Just a shame it was assembled so miserably.

Oh and, those massive hand cut chips? It’s like eating half a dry jacket potato, not cool guys, not cool. Serve with your fries instead.

Anyways, we’ll put this one down to you being undermanned shall we? Yeah. Okay then.

Apparently you’re pretty big in Westfield.

Yours Condimentally,

• Rob.

[PREVIEW] The Mother Flipper Cheeseburger / Brockley Market, London

Full mutha-flippin’ report coming soon, but we had to share some of the pretty.

@MotherFlipperUK

We’re trying to figure out who is supplying London’s caterers with all these low wattage filament lightbulbs.

Mr Ramsay. Before we begin.

Christmas Cookalong.¹

What the fuck were you thinking?

It was like being visually water-boarded with liquid inane awkwardness. If it wasn’t the awful Channel 4 fodder guests that ‘visited’, or Gordon’s frankly appalling repetitive small-talk, then it was the time-delayed cuts to That Guy That Played The Bongos In Jamiroquai while his dad tried unsuccessfully to hide the fact he was drinking poor quality lager at 10am on live television. Oh, and the small issue that huge chunks of the show were repeats of the previous nights’ Come Dine With Me, confusing the baubles out of people flicking on to it. Christ, I hope the pay check came in a dump truck that could fill up the father in law’s swimming pool.

Looking for the entrance to Ramsay’s newest restaurant Bread Street Kitchen, we barrel through One New Change, which sounds like a cross between a rejected boyband and an aspirational government policy.

It being at least a year since visiting Barbecoa, we realise it’s opposite. Next to a Nando’s. Just up the alley from a Byron. Round the corner from the Wasabi. Across the way from EAT.

Being on the rear end of the building, on Bread Street (hence the name), it doesn’t share the same quality views of St Paul’s that Jamie’s Barbecoa enjoys. In fact the view you do get is of the rather dull offices of the people that you’re sitting in there with.

But we are in. A sea of twill-shirted windsor knots scattered about the cavernous space faces us. The receptionist eyes us up and down, wondering to herself whether we missed Nando’s completely and fell through the wrong door.

We are a little bit uncomfortable.

The service from the get-go was super-slick. From the small-talk of the maitre d’ (“Oh you guys look like you’ve been working so hard today, try our cocktails!”) to ordering from the waiter - the food was out faster than a frisky greyhound. We went for two short rib burgers, some chips and a portion of macaroni cheese.

The burger is pretty. The burger is big. The short rib patties could hardly be faulted, if for a tad of sporadic underseasoning on one. The bouncy, brioche buns had been brushed with butter to double-team the mouth with rich butteriness. It was dripping butter before we even picked it up. The ketchup on the top bun half had the look and taste of a creamy-sweet tomato mascarpone mix. And the bottom bun was laced with shredded lettuce covered with mayonnaise and some barely-distinguishable mustard.

The result was a decadent sweet richness. So decadent in fact, that our crisp white napkins could barely protect us from the butter onslaught. The mustard was way too low in the mix to add the contrasting kick. The Bermondsey Frier cheese does a pretty good job at cloning mozzarella and halloumi, but doesn’t add the layer of salty slickness that we always look for. Similar to the carefully curated surroundings, it had an aftertaste of over-thought and design by committee.

After we’ve finished our burger, we look up to see that the entire room has filled up. We really can’t stress just how enormous BSK is. Vast. And by 8pm, after they’ve all finished their last billable 15 minutes of the day from across the road, the place is heaving. We realise a few things after agreeing that the macaroni cheese was ‘nice’.

Bread Street Kitchen is the most clumsily designed restaurant we’ve been in for years.

The menu positively froths with buzzwords, you can choose from the ‘raw bar’, ‘hot kitchen’, ‘small plates’ and the slightly spa-esque ‘hot stone’.

The reclaimed furniture: if you don’t manage to get a leather booth, you’re sitting on chairs from an Essex secondary school. We’re also trying to figure out who is supplying London’s caterers with all these low wattage filament lightbulbs. It’s been done to death here.

There is no set menu, and the portion control is rigorously small - Gordon wants you to buy at least three courses each, push a few cocktails down you and flummox you with a bafflingly long and expensive wine list. It’s the kind of wine list that sits perfectly in, say, Claridges; arguably it fits the clientele here, but it’s not for two scruffy bloggers buying a burger each and sharing a few sides.

It’s all very impressive when you’re in there. Very Big Manhattan Restaurant in what they’re going for. The illusion of which is ruined once you leave again and walk past the Nando’s next door.

If you can withstand the try-hard reclaimed decor, the cufflinked clientele, and the soft, incessant, insufferable balearic beats, then it’s worth a go. But we’d suggest getting an ISA, saving up, then taking lots of money and ploughing your way through the cocktail menu as quickly as possible. Or doing a law degree first.

• Simon.
• Rob.

Time for tea

A sandwich selection at Mariage Frères, Paris

In essence, this is a calzone. Albeit a tiny calzone with a big meaty center. And pickles.

We do enjoy a bit of novelty from time to time. So bring on Fornata, a new Italian tapas slash small plates slash Soho backstreet bandwagon-jumper. Yes, those are floorboards stuck to the walls.

The extensive menu suggests sharing a few dishes off the menu, three to four per head, but we came for their take on the burger, coincidentally the most expensive item on it at just under a tenner.

Predictably served on a wooden chopping board, with a few sprigs of lightly dressed lettuce, the burger arrived simultaneously with a baby meatball calzone, which we ordered as a comparison to the burger. Delicate baby Italian pizza pies, if you will.

Cracking it open revealed the steaming patty, cooked medium.. On first taste the meat suffered a touch from underseasoning, but was corrected in part by the saltiness of the drippy mozzarella. In fact, the sun-dried tomato mixed in with the meat almost puts it in meatball class anyway. It added pleasing colour and sweetness, but the pickles brought nothing other than

The sun-ripened tomato spread added both colour and a sweetness to it, but the pickles although present were largely undetectable (Rob picked one out, hot pickles taste weird). Novelty pickle, basically.

The considerable amount of juice from the meat and cheese had metamorphosed the dough on the underside to the consistency of a huge gyoza. It was a nice contrast to the classic Italian pizza crust texture of the top.

In essence, this is a calzone. Albeit a tiny calzone with a big meaty center. And pickles. Although diminutive in stature (placing it on a tapas style menu allows Fornata to get away with this, kind of) and exorbitantly pricey as a result, it’s a nice, inoffensively mild pizza-with-a-hint-of-burger.

So on to the proper meatball calzone, which was ever so slightly smaller (presumably because it had a meatball instead of a burger in it). It was far superior. The addition of a rich creamy tomato sauce gave it the extra kick. A much better dish.

We might go back to Fornata. It’s totally unoffensive, really. A competent backup option for when those other nearby small plates Italian places are too full but not somewhere to seek out.

But we are yearning for something a bit more substantial. Someone open a large plate Italian restaurant please. Italian food looks so doleful on such tiny plates for this price.

• Simon.
• Rob (I think it would be a good place for a date).

The joy of Monte Cristo

from Mama’s, San Francisco.

“I myself will own up to being a terrible burger chef. My burgers always turn out too dry, or else they are so moist they just fall apart; I have a tendency to choose the wrong bun and cheese; and my topping-to-meat ratio is usually off. The only thing I’m good at is making sauces for my burgers, but that’s cheating. There is a certain alchemy to a good burger that I don’t understand, and that’s part of why I really love I good burger joint burger.”

Tim Anderson, Masterchef winner and all-round good dude, writing about burgers on his blog in 2009.

Our first official burger of 2012 took us to the first London bolthole of punk rock Scottish craft brewers, Brewdog. We’d heard that its short ‘n sweet burger ‘n pizza menu had been designed by none other than Tim Anderson.

You know Tim. Off the telly. Beer geek. Proper palate skills. Terrifyingly knowledgeable. Has cooked at the Fat Duck and Noma and other places starred to the hilt. He’s a Wisconsinite, so he has a proper home ice advantage with American fare. With just three burgers on the menu we thought we’d give them all a go out of courtesy, and also because they’re really sodding cheap.

The burgers came out closed and already cut in half, which we thought was awfully polite of them as it made the proceeding obligatory burger split photos much quicker and easier.

First we tried the Cheeseburger, known as the Los Feliz. Now, this is one thoroughly enjoyable burger. While the beef is pretty compact, visibly pre-prepped and not specifically memorable taste-wise, the overall package makes it a relishable prospect. The Punk IPA sauce looks like a Marie Rose but tastes like a mild Thousand Island nuzzled up to a Franco American mustard, and even some wasabi in there somewhere. It coats the underbelly of the burger with a tickly heat but doesn’t overpower it. Alchemy.

Plus, they totally lob it on the top and bottom bun, making the end product saucy in a gratefully American way; all too rare here in London. The cheese was dirty and deftly melted, combining with the wicked-smart sauce.

On to the Curry Burger. It also has a name. We can’t remember it though, because by then we were a few ales in. Although this may seem like a bleedin’ obvious statement, it actually tasted like a mouthful of beefy curry.

Nice one, Tim. It’s a genuine one-of-a-kind.

The spicy heat-laden patty is surrounded by a sweet, tangy chutney and a fresh cucumber yoghurt, with some cheese thrown in for good measure. No burger is complete without it, am I right? Uncannily curry-like and burger-ish simultaneously, this surprised and delighted the table.

Finally, the pork burger. The most expensive by fifty pence or so, it’s a chunky puck of minced pork with a sauerkraut base, pickle and plenty of mustard. The vinegar hit was on the money here, a brilliantly unsubtle accompaniment for the beers on offer, but ultimately this was our least favourite of the three.

It occurred to us very quickly that at £4.95, the Los Feliz is the best budget cheeseburger in London. It’s cheaper than the competition and the closest to a proper American budget cheeseburger yet, without any faux gastro posturing. And if that’s not your thing, the curry burger makes other attempts at novelty burgers just flat-out embarrassing.

We highly recommend Brewdog if you need a place to eat a decent burger and sup a quality IPA before going to see the latest post-Gothcore math-dubstep band at the Underworld.

And what pre-fame Tim wrote back in 2009? We think he’s cracked it.

• Simon
• Rob (And even though it weirds me out to say it, being the purists we are, I’d probably go for the curry one if you have to choose. But i’d recommend you take someone else and split that and the cheeseburger. They cut them in half for fuck’s sake, it’s practically a share request!)

Special thanks to Friend of B/A Pete for helping us with this one.

The Cheeseburger from The Ship, Wandsworth.

An attempt at a conventional review of In-n-Out Burger would be futile and even a bit vapid. Duh. Obvious.

So instead, we’d like to tell a series of stories about why it’s such a special place, both in its westerly locations and, of course, in our hearts.

Those of you that live in California, Arizona, Utah or wherever else they’ve managed to open one might not fully appreciate what In-N-Out Burger means to us. The very first moment I step off a plane anywhere on the West coast, the very first thing I want to do is visit In-n-Out.

The last time I was in Las Vegas, I had to endure being driven right past the one on Dean Martin Drive a good dozen times over a period of four days without being able to visit once. It was painful.

My first ever In-n-Out burger was in the Spring of 2004.

I was in LA ‘revising’ for my finals and had made a small list of must-visits since this was the first time I’d been back to the west coast since the mid nineties. The two places at the top of that list were In-n-Out, any location would do, and much more amusingly with hindsight, Krispy Kreme.

Remember back then that KK hadn’t mutated into the Franchisosaur it’s now become. We drove all the way through several nastier neighbourhoods (ie. ones generally mentioned in Ice Cube lyrics) to seek out the hot baked goodness. It was one of the proper locations that let you pick up a free one hot off the conveyor belt. It was amazing; my first proper American doughnut experience.

But I digress. Back on topic. Heading North on the 101 towards Burbank I spotted the Cahuenga Boulevard In-n-Out, swiftly crossed about four lanes of traffic and parked up. Exciting. I remember the shock of the menu. I knew nothing of the secret menu in 2004, so I ordered a Double Double with fries. That burger was as Proustian as can be. I could barely comprehend how perfect it was. And I had change from $5.

Several hours later, on the way back from Van Nuys (I have no recollection why I went there), I pulled back in again and had another one. It was totally identical. Unbelievable.

For a short while, Five Guys were being uttered in the same sentence as In-n-Out. Personally, I don’t think they really compare. The sheer aggression of the Five Guys’ expansion across the US is McDonaldsian in scale and I think the quality is suffering as a direct result. In-n-Out don’t do that.

There is no UK franchise equivalent that can engender the same level of childlike wonder and anticipation. The fact it’s so many thousands of miles away sweetens the anticipation, even after dozens of visits.

It’s effortlessly Californian and we would like it to stay that way.

• Simon.

More In-n-Out Diaries are coming soon.

“Value for dollar, this is easily the best burger in the city, and makes a strong case for best burger at any price. It’s not big, it’s not fancy, but it’s the quintessential American burger.”

All over this for our trip in March.

All. Over. It.

But by then the lobster had arrived, and all of a sudden everything was OK again.

We like our burgers, this much is true.

Our expectations were pretty sky high for Burger & Lobster, the specialist joint from the Goodman guys. We were treated to the off-menu In-n-Out Double Double tribute in the West End last year, and it was memorable to say the very least. We were hoping something similar might represent the burger half of the Burger & Lobster equation since it was delivered with such technical aplomb.

Much fuss has also been made of the almost-sacrosanct Goodman burger, so we were prepared to have our minds duly blown, and chow down on some choice crustacean at the same time.

We like our lobster.

As is befitting of the geography, we were hemmed in by a few locals drinking bubbly and presumably talking about Bearer Bonds or Quantitative Easing or something, in a tastefully minimalist setting. It felt like a gussied-up, well lit MEATliquor, even down to the Soulshakers residency at the bar.

The burgers came out first. They were presented open, usually a misfire in our book, but we’ll let this one off slightly because the presentation is spot on for their target clientele. This didn’t stop Rob from muttering like a disgruntled old man in a Post Office queue as he latticed his own ketchup and mustard. The presentation is good. They provided dill pickles up the hoo-ha too, which gets the double thumbs up from us.

The bun was slightly overbearing in size compared to the patty, and was cumbersomely bready, a result of it being, dare we even say it, a bit stale. The quality of the meat cannot be faulted here, it’s soft, moist and tender, but was undersold by the criminal lack of seasoning the patty had been given and the slight burning on of the patties.

The slice of cheese was anorexically thin and had melted apologetically over the meat. Lamentably, it didn’t really add anything much to the flavour and texture of the burger; a far cry from the Goodman standard.

We were disappointed. Like, really disappointed. This is a £20 sandwich, after all.

But by then the lobster had arrived, and all of a sudden everything was OK again. Massive chunks of sweet and juicy lobster filled it, with a perfectly shelled claw perched on top, as if to say ‘how fucking pimp is this roll’.

The roll itself? Well, a it’s a slice of buttery brioche grilled in the same way a good grilled cheese should be grilled. With a dunk in the accompanying butter, it was a fresh and delightful experience.

The simplicity of the menu is a nice touch, but charging the same, 20 quid, for a burger and a lobster seems a bit ludicrous - far too expensive for a standard steakhouse burger, and almost not expensive enough for the lobster. Maybe given time to settle in, the burgers will reach the dizzying standards of Goodman, but why you’d go for anything other than the competitively priced, and bloody lovely, lobster is beyond us.

B&L is unique. It’s laughably affordable high quality lobster served how you want it for £20. Given our bias though, we just wish the burger had been given a bit more attention, or perhaps been omitted completely.

Vote lobster.

• Simon and Rob.

Check back tomorrow for our take on Burger & Lobster

Dude. Amazing. Dude.

A rallying cry from the head chef of the Admiral Codrington in Chelsea, site of our favourite London burger of 2011:

Who would be interested in a new years eve burger night? All the burgers I’ve done this year available. Please RT

— Fred Smith (@FredSmith_) November 18, 2011

Knowing our reputation, we were all over it like Lindsay Lohan on a Playboy cover.

After a pre-game round or two of Champagne with PBR chasers, we zoomed over to The Cod to get our celebration on.

Fred served up a masterful array of top notch gastro fare. We nearly over-did the starter platter, the highlight of which is definitely the calamari and mini sausages.

The bacon cheeseburger was incredible. The perfectly formed 8oz patty was a appropriately sizable chunk of soft, tender beef with a neatly seared outside, with cheese melted beautifuly on top. The bacon was crispy, but sweet and flavourful. Indeed, Rob was already half cut, but we’re pretty sure his incessant ramblings about how “fucking amazing” the burger was were mostly due to the quality of what he was eating.

Probably.

The Double Stack was a beauty of a Big Mac tribute. A nicely toasted bun with two thinner patties, a bevy of pickles and plenty of house special sauce. This needs to be a permanent menu fixture. It’s such a classic sandwich in the hearts of us all, and Fred has made it look better than the McDonald’s food stylists could ever hope to in a laboratory.

If these two were amazing, then the Ox Cheek Chilli burgers that came out, compliments of the chef, were other worldly.

This is a historic sandwich. He’s pulled the Double Beef out the bag. The Ox cheek chilli brought a second wave of meatiness to the table, flavouring the burger with a deeply rich beef ‘n umami flavour. At the same time, the crunchy chilli slaw provided a constant pleasurably gentle heat to the whole affair.

It was brilliant. Inspired. Fucking brilliant. There are no more superlatives. If you get the opportunity to get one of these from Fred, then take it.

After the meal, Fred came over for our verdict. Cue intoxicated shouts of “Dude” and “Amazing” and a few more “Dude”s, and thanking him in the best way we could think possible: buying him a Jagerbomb.

Dude. Amazing. Dude.

He tells us the next release of the Admiral Codrington Cheeseburger v2.1 arrives towards the end of January, and everyone should try it.

Not many other London kitchens are capable of nailing the classics and bringing us such assured, confident innovations like the Ox Cheek.

A fitting start to 2012. As you were.

• Simon and Rob.