Someone mentioned Mr Burger… BOOO!!! Refer to my review from last year.
Rumours have circulated of late that I have a cowardly palate, afraid of change. Whilst the arguments against these accusations are many and irrefutable, what follows is not a defence, as such, against these claims. No, defence is not required as ignorance is its own curse, unassailable by reason or facts. The following is simply a community service.
Today I sat at my desk, alone. My small collection of friends had abandoned me to a day of solitude, destined to walk the scorching streets alone in search of sustenance. Hugging the shaded walls, I found myself walking down Little Bourke St, a discreet sign showing stylised outlines of burgers ahead of me.
I have long avoided trying this establishment, as despite loving burgers so very much, Mr Burger seemed that little bit too “trendy” for my tastes. But then I thought of all the times I’d walked past in the company of my friends, friends who had abandoned me at the moment, but whom I still felt nothing but pure affection for. Often these lone bastions of humanity had asked if I knew anyone who had tried it yet, and every time my response had been the same – “no”.
I stopped at the doorway. It was still early, so the crowd of bearded, tight-jeaned hipsters were not creating their usual cordon of irony and distaste. I looked through the window, but the glare from our incessant heatwave and the tinting on the glass left the interior a desolate mystery.
I entered.
“Bro! How can I help you” exclaimed the balding, overweight, short, middle-aged man behind the counter. He looked like someone who took his styling tips from George Calamboris, and whilst my experiences at Georges restaurants had been overwhelmingly positive, he still was not a guy I found personally “likeable”
“I’m not a ‘bro’, bro” I responded. This was not starting well.
“Chill dude! It’s too hot for bad vibes – how can I help you?”
I couldn’t argue with his reasoning, but I was still left with a bad taste in my mouth.
“I’ll have a Mr Meat and a small chips please”
“For only $2 more you can get a drink”
“No thanks”
“You sure? Look outside dude” (he had half-learned a lesson at least) “you’ll need a drink!”
“NO” I replied, firmly this time.
After asking my name (“Is that Zeb or Zed?”) he advised me it would be about 5 minutes. I turned around. There was a bench to sit and wait, but no tables to eat at. I sat and waited.
As predicted, around 5 minutes later a tall, thin man with a terrible goatee, emo haircut and super-tight jeans instructed “Zed” that his burger was ready. Looking around and not seeing anyone else in the room, I assumed he meant “Zeb” and grabbed the bag. A totally bro comment followed me as I was walking out, but I didn’t pause to listen, intent as I was of just getting the hell out of there before more hipsters showed up. The ones behind the counter were bad enough.
I wandered the streets on the way back to the office, and ended up pulling up at a bench near the County Court.
First, I tried some chips. The bag was well packed with chips, which were all of a uniform length and girth. They were crispy, and dusted with a seasoning of indeterminate origin but which I reckon was probably mostly powdered tomato. There may have been some paprika as well. Overall, the chips were good, not great. 7.5/10
Then, I got to the money shot. The buger itself was wrapped in waxed paper, and upon unfolding this I was presented with a burger half wrapped in foil. The burger itself was medium sized – much smaller than Grill’d, much larger than Big Boy BBQ. Despite the utmost care I had taken in transit, the burger itself was not well presented. One can only assume they constructed it with a whole heap of irony and the term “Sloppy Joe” in mind.
Biting into it, I was taken back to a time when the Buchan Valley Roadhouse was ran by a lovely old eastern European couple and their 40-year old virgin son. Despite the failings of their son, they made lovely burgers of the traditional fish-and-chip shop variety. You’re not getting any gourmet flavours or exotic sauces here, just a solid, reliable burger.
Buying a burger such as this from the old immigrant couple at the corner shop is one thing, something that is sorely lacking in the modern world where corner shops are owned by semi-retired professionals and ran by pimply teenagers. Buying this from a bunch of hipster-bro d**kheads is something else entirely. The burger was quite simply not good enough to justify sharing a space with those people, even if it is only for 5 minutes. It’s also not good enough that you have to buy the burger then try to find a comfortable place to sit and eat it.
So…
Flavour (chips): 7.5/10 – Good, but not quite great.
Flavour (burger): 7/10 – Quite nice, but nothing remarkable
Value ($14): 5/10 – Even with the small chips I was left satisfied, which is an achievement
Convenience: 1/10 – No tables and chairs, or indeed any in the nearby vicinity makes meeting friends for lunch almost unworkable
Vibe: 1/10 – See above