Shake Shack, London

Food commentators on Twitter, the London press and even some of my previously oblivious, nonchalant mates had remarked that London’s burger mania had peaked and become dull. Even my Mum is aware of the craze. But this week’s opening of US transplants Shake Shack and Five Guys surely marks the crescendo.

As the debates rage on the limits of queuing, on London’s colonisation by US chains and thirdly on whether the humble burger itself merits all of this attention, it can be difficult to maintain a stance. The ‘to each their own’ mantra so universally appropriate has to be the way forward here.

Personally I wouldn’t like to queue 2 hours for a burger, but if someone does, that’s fine. I wouldn’t sleep rough for a new iPhone either, but I did wait 45 minutes at Frank’s for a lukewarm, assembly line Negroni which I could have bettered for free in my suntrap garden around the corner. So I’m a mug too… or, we’ve all got our weaknesses.

Is London becoming the 51^st State in regards to openings? Well, perhaps. We have Balthazar now, and in retail, J Crew and Williams Sonoma are following Banana Republic, Abercrombie & Fitch and many more before them. Nothing new there though. 

I doubt anyone would rather the repulsive Quick of France, or Pans & Co of Spain, and we should be pleased about the employment and investment created. Frankly, heightened service levels might cross the pond too. I’d much rather a Japanese invasion of fashion and food, but that’s another story.

But the burger itself should surely be the main issue. Is it worthy enough of all this hype? Is it just meat within two slices of bread? Yes, of course. But therefore a steak is just grilled meat and sashimi is just sliced fish? Anything can be disseminated for ridicule. If somebody values something to queue for a certain period or pay £15, then that is its value. Simple.

 

But Shake Shack itself? From the preview: a bit disappointing. They’ve made a huge effort, the team are fantastic and I wish the venture well – but the Smoke Stack burger (with cheese, bacon, peppers and a cloying mayo-based sauce) lacked much depth in flavour. The Aberdeen Angus patties were greyish inside, underseasoned and underwhelming. 

Top marks for the cheesy crinkle cut fries, and the shakes themselves. Kernel beer is decent but I hope they end up collborating with a London brewery here, as with Brooklyn’s Shackmeister. 

Curiously, the Cumberland sausage hot dog was the stand-out dish for me. Rich, gamey flavours and the crispy shallots were a perfect accompaniment and substitution for the usual bog-standard onions. With more of that cheese sauce. Fantastic, and probably the one reason I’d return.

I’ve eaten in Shake Shack in New York, and enjoyed it. The branding is superb and the staff great, but the actual food isn’t memorable on its own merits. It’s not as good as Burger Joint at Le Parker Meridien. Or Fanelli’s. Or countless other more affordable burgers in New York.

Let’s be truthful here: that positive Shake Shack NY impression becomes amplified when back home and amalgamated into the joys and vibrancy of a New York visit overall. The superlatives come out, the power of nostalgia becomes inscrutable, the positive memories indelible. But we in London have been busy, and this isn’t a patch on Honest Burgers or Tommi’s.

MEATmission

MEATmission is more of the same. Whether that is a good or bad thing depends completely on whether or not you like its older siblings. Personally, I’m a huge fan of the food, booze and vibe so It was never going to be a hard sell for me.

Differences here are that they take reservations before 7pm, the space is more condensed and some food tweaks. Notably, the monkey fingers – a huge serving of buffalo coated and fried chicken pieces. I could eat these every day.

In fact my current buffalo obsession led me onwards to try the buffalo chicken burger which was long overdue after a spate of dead hippies. It’s pretty much a big monkey finger in a bun. The chicken ‘burger’ is absolutely vast – you could quite easily halve it and fill two buns. It’s an unwieldy, greasy mess, and all the better for it.

A reviving glass jug of Brooklyn was punchy at £11 for two pints, but hoarded and guzzled all the same. My companions Piglet and @scouserachel preferred the sanguine hues of their ‘Time Of The Month’ cocktails. 

Service is friendly and extremely competent for this cacophonous, well-lubricated environment. The space is an old Christian mission, hence the name, and the stained glass effect mural is a nod to this. Sort of. If Satanists had worship space, perhaps. Frankly, an old church might be the only way to top this latest venue in terms of gothic drama.

The burgers are high-end slop, the crowd is young and loud, and you have that occasional reward of no-reservations; they thoroughly approve of people lingering to get drunk. It's a go hard or go home sort of place and you’ll already know if you’ll like it or not. I do profusely, and Monkey Fingers are worth crossing town for, but MEATliquor pips it, primarily for being more spacious and a lot more fun. 

Food – 8/10

Drink – 9/10

Service - 8/10

Value – 7/10 
Tap water tales – 8/10

Staff Hotness – 8/10

Mishkin's

Day late and a dollar short was this pig to the Mishkin’s party. On a Sunday afternoon, it was relatively languid but having been past several times (and with plenty of Polpo experience) I can imagine how loud and hectic it must get.

The food is an eclectic collection of inspirations and quite resolutely refuses to be pigeon-holed. Yes it’s heavy on the New York Jewish dishes, but East End Jewish features too, and yet it’s not kosher. You couldn’t expect so from the man famed for pork & fennel meatballs or the pork shoulder and pepper pizzette. And of course, it’s boozy, music-focused and sceney. So really it’s many miles from being Katz’s in London, which the laziest blurbs indicate.

However, matzo ball chicken soup (£6) isn’t something you come across every day in London. This was a small bowl with only one dumpling (you’d be strung up in NY for such parsimony) but it concealed plenty of shredded chicken and veg in a light chicken broth. Clearly this isn’t New York and there is better to be had in situ (for about $3-5) but I was glad of the escapism and warmth on that hideous afternoon. A regular ‘Jewish penicillin’ chicken soup might be a smart addition too, especially as a seasonal special.

Onwards from a wholesome bowl of cuddles to a rich, oozing mess. The mac ‘n’ cheese (with mustard and salt beef - £11) was quite something. Baked and crispy on top, with a select few of those teeth-threateningly burnt pieces.  Plenty of chunks of salt beef – absolutely delicious. Do not be deceived by the size, this is rich, heavy fare. I was stuffed full about halfway through, but persisted to the inevitable stupor and slump. 

 

East End chips with green ketchup were staggeringly tasty and moreish. The green ketchup seems to be something close to chip shop/Chinese curry sauce. Chips were crunchy, piping hot and yet soft inside, with some skins left on for a bit of variety. Superb.

Cinnamon donuts are rarely bad but I’ve had better (Disco Bistro’s were world-beating) - these weren’t fryer-fresh judging by the struggle they put up, and the chocolate sauce was thick but too springy, meaning it merely imprinted the donut, rather than transferring. Generous portion though.

Unlike Polpo and its small plates, there isn't any pressure to dine in a sophisticated or civilised Mediterranean manner – you are thoroughly encouraged to stuff your face, wipe the melted cheese off and waddle out. The size of the deli sandwiches (including the famed Reuben) attest to this. I would say it's by far the best value in the stable, for this reason. I'd struggle paying £10 for a pizzetta having gorged at Mishkin's.

Service and staff are similar (attentive, clued-up and quick, but totally into themselves) and drinks are top notch. The spiced negroni (£8) provided a zingy kick to the Sunday, desperately needed to attack the cheese gloop now sunken to the lowest fathoms of my stomach.

What I enjoyed about Mishkin’s its uniqueness and honesty. This is not healthy. These are not small plates. Or for sharing. It’s selfish, coronary-inducing food, far beyond the levels normally ascribed to ‘comfort’. It does have obvious themes, but constantly surprises, twists and ultimately bangs its own drum. Or shtick. I’m not aware of anywhere imitating it beyond the odd reuben, and in contemporary London gastronomy, a dash of originality is a precious thing indeed. 

Food – 8/10 

Drink – 8/10 

Service - 7/10 

Value – 8/10 

Tap water tales – 8/10 (jug brought and topped up) 

Staff Hotness – 9/10 (as ever, hand-selected by Russell I'm sure)

Lucky Fried Chicken at The Grafton Arms

Lucky Fried Chicken is a pop up above a pub in Kentish Town. It is so on trend and encapsulates everything current in London food that it is almost a caricature of itself. Rumours were that it might be around for a while, but it now seems as if it’ll only last a few weeks (at The Grafton Arms at least).

Perhaps the margins in half-decently sourced chicken are tight compared to burgers, which seem to be coming. Mixing pubby furniture with a few booths, and surrounded by beautiful tiling which could have been pilfered from the Northern line station up the road, it’s a lovely space. There is draft beer upstairs (take note Disco Bistro!) and plenty of space.

The board is a pastiche of a generic chicken shop menu, but the cheekiest touch is the familiar face on the chicken buckets, which I imagine itself won’t survive too long before the letters arrive. Nonetheless I think the Colonel would be proud. The chicken is well seasoned (there is no discernible single flavour, it is just ‘seasoning’) and absolutely piping hot. Freshness is great, but we couldn’t eat for about 5 minutes and even then had to use cutlery. However it was juicy grub, with even boneless pieces very moist.

And grub this is. There is no semblance of provenance (being communicated clearly at least) here – no-one is telling you about the farm or the ingredients or the culinary process.  And the crowd didn’t seem to care. It’s unadulterated junk with no loftiness, emulating fast food outlets in a way that no burger places have quite dared to do without a huge improvement in product. 

Our table was debilitated – the chicken burger was a soggy, delicious mess not unlike many I've had at 3am, but the mash and gravy a nice homage to KFC across the pond as more canon accompaniments. The much-lauded cherry pie was overcooked, with a rock-solid base.

Fantastic fun but I doubt I’d return. If you took Kentish Town’s Chicken Cottage, kicked out everyone brown, served Camden lager, doubled the prices and played some 80s tunes, the food wouldn’t be a huge step change upwards. Nicer tiles though. And marginally fewer nutters. You get the gist... go if this sounds all appealing, but don’t expect to feel any more sprightly or wholesome afterwards. 

Food – 7/10 
Drink – 8/10 
Service - 7/10 
Value – 7/10 
Tap water tales – 3/10 
Staff Hotness – 7/10

 

Bay Area and Sonoma

Of the many people who visit San Francisco, and certainly those from the UK, I imagine very few experience much of Oakland. And generally I would say it’s a place you need a reason to visit (family in my case), but it also has a few highlights especially for foodies.

Manhattan has its Brooklyn, and San Francisco has the Mission. There isn’t too much to contest there. But Oakland is striking out in a more balanced way. There are hipsters sure, but also plenty of baby-booming ex-hipsters and yuppies who simply can’t afford any space in SF. Oakland has always been a very black city, and suffers from social issues in certain parts, but interestingly there is also a large black middle class population which adds a different element to the place.

Plum Bar and Restaurant is on a small but perfectly formed strip running down from the CBD towards the Lake. Here I had my best burger of this trip to the US, following a recommendation from SF Gate. It was a flawless clash of textures; a beautifully rich, soft patty cooked rare but with some bite, and topped with an incredible Alpine concoction of caramelised onions and cheese. The spicy fries were among the best I've had too.

This burger is 2 mins walk from the BART and easily worth the 15 minute ride from Market Street. The bar itself had superb drinks and funky décor (check the elaborate network of suspended tea lights and plum mural).

 

Next door is a sloppy but delicious Mexican joint: La Bonita Taqueria. As I mentioned on my SF post, I find the black beans and general US Mexican food a bit more mushy and plonked than the food I’ve had in Mexico itself. It is American’s comfort food, and could easily be apportioned through a drip. 

This explosion of enchiladas was exactly what this hungover little pig needed, but at this Mexican equivalent of a greasy spoon there was nothing delicate going on. 

 

My absolute food highlight of the trip, and I would say best of 2012 was the B Side BBQ. This is a barbecue joint owned by the same people as the famous Brown Sugar Kitchen, one of the sceniest brunches in the Bay Area. We sadly couldn’t get a table there (which looked FANTASTIC) but they referred us here,

I wonder if the team from Pitt Cue have been here? It’s BBQ but done in a modern way, with bourbon cocktails, succinct menus and bar seating. The food was outstanding. 

 

My Dark & Stormy St Louis ribs were the most tender, flavourful and juicy I’ve ever had. Amazing. Worth the 11 hour flight alone. Sides were also outstanding; brilliant Texas toast with a meaty dipping sauce, good pickles and dense, rich beans to die for. The pics don't do justice to the size of these dishes, they were enormous.

My sister’s baby back ribs with pineapple salsa were equally lauded, accompanied with creamy mac. Her  boyfriend’s pulled pork sandwich was the same - they live in Oakland and said it was the best meal they’d had yet. 

It’s in a rather ‘characterful’ part of Oakland (think burning oil drums in Homer & Eddie) but I couldn’t recommend it more. Come in a cab. Straight from SF airport. And then fly home, happy.

Onwards from Oakland, as one must. Many visiting the Bay Area strike out towards Monterey and Big Sur, or perhaps to Yosemite. A fair few head to Napa wine tasting, but an even wiser few choose Sonoma instead.

Healdsburg is the spiritual home of the Sonoma wineries, and definitely worth the drive. It’s barely an hour from the Bay and its quaint, walkable centre set around a green square makes a pleasant change from auto-centric California. There are numerous twee interiors shops but a serious amount of wine bars and tasting rooms. Many of the wineries have their tasting rooms in town – it’s ideal as you don’t have to worry about driving and can do a crawl.

It’s a tad sneaky too, because common practice in this region is to use grapes from dispersed sites. So as their sources are scattered around (with some scandalously coming from Napa?!) it means their main premises may not be impressive. Hence the town locations.

My winery recommendation is the Portalupi team, who quite refreshingly work with Italian grapes such as Barbera and Sangiovese, rather than the ubiquitous Cabernets and Merlots. Also try Woodenhead and their punchy, booze-filled Pinot Noirs provide a bulkier twist on this grape associated with Ribena transparency and easy guzzling.

In Healdsburg it’s easy to get wine fatigue. Seems ridiculous but it’s all anybody talks about. Step forward Bear Republic –self-appointed state craft brewery and playfully jingoistic with it.

Their Racer 5 beer is relatively well known, and can be found in London, but some rare and riotously strong IPAs can be found here. Food is resplendently London 2012 in its natural habitat – all chicken wings, mac & cheese and more filth and dirt than you could ever wish for. The chilli bread bowl was particularly impressive slush. Not to mention the garlic fries....

 

Healdsburg is a genteel place however, so beyond California’s best brews, showy food and cocktails are expected too. This is not Paso Robles – the Sonoma apple has not rolled as far from the Napa tree as Sonoma folk would like to think - there is plenty of fine dining. We chose Spoonbar, where the cocktails were beautiful and the bar snacks dainty. Who would have thought chicken crackling with drops of buttermilk could be so fantastic!

 

There is more gush in this post, and its San Francisco twin than I am usually comfortable with. There was an analogy concerning female elephants somewhere but I thought better of it. My avid readers (hi mum!) wouldn’t approve.

Suffice it to say that San Francisco and the Bay Area has some of the best, most diverse and sustainable eating and drinking on the planet. Far more as a region and hinterland than New York I would say. The localism of both wine and produce means food frenzy has spread across the whole region and people are genuinely obsessed. I’d say that isn’t the case with New York which is, much like London, a beacon shining out to the wider world, but casting shadow upon the chains and mediocrity surrounding it.

San Francisco

San Francisco must be one of the most stereotypically ‘foodie wanker’ cities going. In fact, I’d say the most. It’s a hipster hub, both spiritual and corporate home of tech, blogging and Apple in particular, and localism and organic produce are infuriatingly revered.

The only points I’d say New York scores are due to both its critical mass (although per head comparisons would be interesting) and that innate impatience with anything old, ensuring a blinkingly turnover of premises and a labourious obsession with where's 'hot'.

You’ll need a coffee to perk you up after what is likely to be a long flight. Blue Bottle is San Francisco’s Monmouth or Square Mile. They have plenty of outlets around the Bay Area, but if you’re after a cultural fix too, the excellent SF MOMA sports its own, complete with Mondrian cake and an interesting rooftop sculpture garden.

 

If in the Mission, try Ritual, the other major SF roastery. I found it smoother than Blue Bottle and a bit less stiff. This place has a ridiculous hipster quotient. Don’t you dare bring in a PC laptop. Or arrive clean-shaven! 

Check the amount of shiny Apple lights coming from these antisocial, unemployed, uniform drones:

 

As mentioned, San Franciscans are obsessive about produce, which isn’t surprising given the climate and soil of the surrounding country. Superlative fruit, vegetables and wine are everywhere – out of state is anathema, let alone imported. Even the crummiest corner deli has a robust craft beer selection (I’m not sure we can count Sam Adams, Sierra or Brooklyn any more) to make a London 'specialist' weep.

America means burgers, right? Even with a hugely diverse population especially heavy on both Asian and Latino cultures, there are countless diners, traditional restaurants and deceptively divey looking bars slinging good burgers.

Jasper’s Taproom offered fantastic spiced cotechini and other bar treats, but this SF Gate Top 50-rated burger was a bit of a let-down. The bun was inexplicably an over-salted focaccia and not the freshest either. You can’t hide this even with a drizzle of oil people, focaccia hardens up in minutes rather than hours! Combined with a forgettable patty – don’t bother. 

 

My vote for Bay Area burger goes to the brilliant Plum Bar in OaklandActually (yes, I know, but it’s like their Brooklyn, honest!) but I’ll cover those badlands in another post.

The Nob Hill Grille is up there with my favourite brunch places on Earth. The location is great for the hotels, and the hills provide a brilliant way of walking off the impending feast. My chicken and waffles was absolutely sublime and one of my most memorable breakfasts ever. Only in an American morning would this be considered a thing of decency:

The chicken was deep-fried to absolute crunchy perfection, with a hint of paprika giving some spice. And two huge pieces meant I was sorted all day. The Piglet’s corned beef hash with poached eggs was also enormous. Sit at the bar and watch it all masterfully unfold.

 

 

Hayes Valley is one of my favourite areas in the city to wander around – it’s pedestrian friendly and Hayes Street is an attractive strip of many indie fashion, home and coffee places. A good amount of the shopping is for guys too. When you tire of big department stores, cabbing it between places and dodging piss-sodden bums around Union Square, it's just the tonic. 

Arlequin was our sarnie stop-off here. Brilliant coffees and beers, solid food (meatball sub and spinach and basil pesto grilled cheese) and next door is an excellent wine bar and store.

 

As SF’s hipsterdom epicentre, the Mission hosts some very good dining and boozing options. Mission Cheese I’ve conferred its own glory here, and there are plenty more in another stretch which is walkable and has enough variety to explore. But the area is traditionally (and still is, especially along Mission St rather than more swanky Valencia) the Mexican and Central American hub of the city.

Taqueria Cancun will sling you three massive tacos overflowing with tender carnitas, cheese, beans and other mush. Superb, especially when taken into Knockout next door (who have no kitchen but the best margaritas) – and all for about $7. Note that black beans in the US are often blended into a baby food consistency…I prefer the bite of a discernible bean but to each gringo, their own.

 

Finally, some fancier contemporary food. We ate in an endless procession of worthy and affordable restos  (I would also recommend SPQR, Delfina, Foreign Cinema and Hayes Street Grill) but on this visit, Nopa was my stand-out. 

The menu is contemporary Californian, which is to say that it uses all the local hotshot ingredients (seriously SF, get over the heirloom tomatoes) but primarily in Italian guises and reinventions. There is a wannabe Italian thing going on in California, hence the revolting ‘Tuscan-style’ villas the rich erect, but the climate does lend itself to replicating the food very well. 

Wood-baked butter beans with a breadcrumb and pesto crust was innovative and damn good. Flat bread slices with ham hock, greens and tons of parmesan was a great sharing starter. But why not call it a pizza bianca?

Duck leg with seasonal greens and potatoes had an incredibly sweet and yet mellow jus just beneath the spiced, crispy skin. House-made pappardelle with a humble tomato and spinach sauce was perfect simplicity. 

 

Spinach was no doubt in season on our visit, as it was ubiquitous on menus and specials lists. San Franciscans are a demanding, discerning lot, and with such competition and high standards, it has created one of the best dining scenes on the planet. And I haven’t even touched the surface of the incredible Asian food available…