On Saturday night, I chose to wait over an hour for what, at $17, was quite possibly the most expensive hamburger I've ever encountered. For about a minute or so, I felt like a complete idiot. But I can honestly say that this decision proved to be one of the best I've made in a really long time.
First, let me say that I am neither a hamburger conoisseur or a "foodie," but I appreciate a nice meal as much as the next guy. Which is precisely why I questioned my decision to pass up some of the restaurant's more authentic English/Italian cuisine for a seemingly overpriced and relatively simple menu selection.
Here's why I did it.
My curiosity got the best of me. I was shocked by the price (even for New York). But, more importantly, I was intrigued by the notion that, despite other delicious dishes, everyone there was doing it (peer pressure on a plate). I mean, the place was experiencing burger breakdown to the point of having to inform us of the unusually long wait. I refused to leave this place questioning such a phenomenon. I had to understand what all the fuss was about.
So, without further adeiu, here's my review:
Let me start out by saying that I've had every kind of burger imaginable. And, for the most part, a noteworthy burger - for me, at least - typically falls into one of three categories:
1.) Nice and Greasy - This is the most common of the three. Usually, you'll find these made in old-school burger houses. Over time, these establishments have managed to perfect what started off as an already exciting, uniquely flavorful burger recipe.
2.) The Gourmet - These burgers are much harder to come by. But every now and then, somebody finds a new way to switch up and/or upgrade the ingredients to make the expected seem unexpected again. Sometimes it's the bread. Other times, a secret sauce or an imported cheese. Almost always, it's a combination of culinary creativity. (Father's Office in Los Angeles does this better than most)
3.) Fantastic Finger Food - I love sliders. In fact, I'm convinced that, by simply making a smaller burger, you are already at an advantage over the competiton. Maybe it's me, but a tiny burger often tastes better. Having said that, going small is certainly no guarantee for greatness. But I've had some wonderful experiences with some of these little guys.
NOTE: almost all great burgers have one thing in common: a side of equally delicious fries.
The burger at The Spotted Pig, Mario Batali's gastro-pub in Manhattan, was no exception. It came with a generous helping of well-salted shoestring fries that were seasoned to perfection with rosemary and garlic.
But what about the freakin' burger, you ask?
Well, I'll tell you.
For me, a good burger is a good burger. A great burger hits you more like a filet at a world-renowned steakhouse. Such was the case here. The color and juicyness of it all was like nothing I had ever experienced before. And the seasoning, too complex to put my finger on. The bread was perfect and grilled on both sides for artistic value. But above all else, it came with nothing more than warm, melted roquefort. No fixings, no condiment - just bun, patty and cheese. And despite my reservations (I normally drown my burgers in ketchup and mustard), I gave them the benefit of the doubt. And I'm so glad I did. I sat there and savored what was without question the most amazing burger I've tasted to date.
The moral of the story: sometimes it's good to follow crowds. Sometimes, it's good to challenge everything you think you know about something you like. And sometimes it's good to break the rules you create in your head.
Because, every now and then, doing so can lead to a wonderfully satisfying experience.
Or, at the very least, a damn tasty burger.
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