The whole thing works, and somehow doesn’t feel forced. A testament to the polished design thinking that’s gone into it. Bravo.
The black mirrored surfaces, the waitresses dressed like Robert Palmer’s backing band, the all too self-aware cowhide chairs, the ambient funky house soundtrack. It’s the Hollister of steakhouses. It’s not our scene.
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.
So the second at. A burger van. They’re pretty hot right now. Should be a slam dunk, right?
Man, Americans can do brunch.
The French toast here was soft and perfectly moist. Paired with the coulis-like apricot jam, which was well balanced between sweet and sharp, and a dash of whipped cream it was cracking. The inclusion of the chicken apple sausage was inspired. More delicate on the palate than it’s porky brethren; lobbing a chunk of this in with the French toast and jam was a sweet ‘n savoury texture-laden pleasure.
There are a few Macrina’s dotted around Seattle, and I’d recommend you find one if you’re ever there. It’s laid back, with great staff who are happy for you to chill for as long as you like and let the hangover subside. You can even grab some sweet looking bread and pastries for later in the day. The coffee kicked ass as well.
- Rob.
Rob
Oh my giddy aunt, where to start with this one.
Trust the entrepreneurs of Shoreditch to create a pop-up mall from things:
a) Michael Bay blows up in an average action sequence.
b) The unscrupulous use to move illegal immigrants about.
Shipping container locale aside, the feel of Bukowski Grill is weird: it’s got hints of a classic muted diner (the low hanging lamps, the Americana-heavy musak), but oddly crossed with a rustic feel. It was as if someone had bunged a short order cafe in the middle of the woods. Of Shoreditch.
Anyway.
Now, regular readers will know our opinions on the Open versus Closed bun issue. Well, when the cheeseburger arrived, we were confronted with a burger prep paradox: it was a closed bun. BUT, the pickles were on side AND there were no condiments inside. Completely unsauced.
As for the burger itself, the meat was pretty good, interestingly seasoned with what we though was a hint of porkiness. Bun was crunchy, and perhaps over toasted. The double gloucester cheddar was far too overbearing in the burger and overpowers the subtle flavour of the burger entirely. All condiments are hand made, and the mayo has a nice garlicky finish to it, but the only mustard on the premises they had was a pungent Dijon-esque horseradish variety. Odd choice for a burger joint that doesn’t serve roast beef.
Also slightly unsettling are the strange deli nuisances about the place: they offer a foccacia burger bun, which they’ll probably find doesn’t get ordered much at all. At least we hope not.
As for the other burger we ordered. Oh dear.
This motherfucker (legitimate swears, it’s called the Mother F) cut in half looked like a prop limb from a Saw movie.
We like our burgers rare to medium but one of these patties was raw to the point that it was still cold in the middle. You could see the fat. Despite some reservations, we persevered, under the impression that this was how was supposed to be. We stopped when nearing the middle. It was cold.
Now, disclaimer time, it was only their second day of opening. BUT, it was hardly super busy and they weren’t rushed off their feet (we were there around 3pm). The sous chef was eager to replace the burger for us, but due to time constraints, we had to leg it. So they were very kind in taking 50% off the already discounted bill (20% off for an introductory period). The service was great. The chips were nice.
Simon
What more to say.
Well, the boxes in the BOXPARK itself are adorable. Super cute.
As for the Bukowski Grill itself, the key point Rob hasn’t touched on, and one that is not apparent until you get into the place itself, is that this is a Spanish Burger Joint.
I have had one memorable Spanish burger, and that was at a branch of Ferran Adrià’s maladroitly named Fast Good in Madrid.
Once you embrace the Iberian heritage, a lot of the operational choices seem to make some kind of sense. At least a little bit.
The tomato on the burger is dehydrated (oven dried they call it). The brioche bun (I also balked at the focaccia option) is perfectly fine, but arrives completely unsauced. The mayo is an a squeezy bottle. The homemade ketchup is in a Heinz bottle. The aforementioned mustard is completely unsuitable and in a jar. There was also some chutney or something, for no discernible reason.
Now, the cheeseburger itself was perfectly satisfactory. Relatively unfussy. A solid C+. The beef is cooked in a baby Josper grill. An adorable thing itself, but not particularly well suited to cooking a burger. You get better results from a flat-top, and considering they’re not serving steaks, this seems like an expensive and unsuitable arrangement. It also means the cheese can’t be cloched. Combine that with a dense, heavy cheddar and a burger already lacking in wetness, it doesn’t come together well.
I won’t labour further on the poisonously undercooked Mother F. They were apologetic enough at the time and I’m sure they’ll sort their Josper timings out.
What with burger competition increasing week to week in London, I don’t think we’ll be back.
Afterword
Charles Bukowski is one of my favourite authors, and as a result I was hoping that the style and ethos of his work would be reflected in this place. Apart from the old school typewriter font menus (Bukowski fact - he used knackered portable Underwood typewriters in his early correspondence and writing), it isn’t. At all. Sad times.
- 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.
“But most predominant were the condiments, this burger was slathered in them…”
You could call this a guilty pleasure, as it is a fast food burger, but who wouldn’t want to try the food effort of the makers of my all-time favourite (non-alcoholic) drink: A&W Root Beer.
And the Root Beer company makes burgers no less; that shit is crazy, right?
This is another shining example of how the American (or Canadian) fast food burger can kick the crap out of its British equivalent (and that includes a lot of pricier gastropub offerings).
The patty, while not brilliant, was decent enough and all the other prerequisites of a decent burger were there, including big chunks of onion, a heap of iceberg and plenty of pickles. But most predominant were the condiments, this burger was slathered in them - the bottom with mustard and ketchup, and the top with loads of mayo.
They helped create the desired moisture and flavour, not that dissimilar to a BK Whopper, but without the gross aftertaste I commonly experience from them.
NB. I was hungover and in the early stages of jetlag, so the Teen Burger served as great saucy sustenance.
And their packaging is weird, but awesome.
- Rob.
“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.
I only had a mouthful of this because friend of B/A Irish Paul ordered it, but seriously, it’s THE BEST chimichanga I’ve ever tasted. It kicks any British attempt square in the balls, and then calls it a *verga*.
It was huge, I mean ENORMOUS - packed full of the juiciest meat, jammed with crazy-fresh guac and properly oozing lashings of cheese from the first cut. And it only cost $5.95, which is insane considering the size. I was the most jealous, like when-my-friend-at-school-got-Castle-Greyskull-for-his-birthday jealous.
I had the taquitos, which were fresh-n-tasty good. But if you go here, get the chimichanga. PLEASE.
- Rob.
