BB Burger, Bar Boulud, London
Along with all the polemics on children in restaurants and “no reservations”, an infinite amount of monkeys and typewriters have been clattering away on the omnipresence of the burger in London in recent years. And as for opinions on where, precisely, serves the best burger in London, it’s like a certain excretory part of the human anatomy: everyone’s got one.
My favourite observation on the city’s obsession with the burger came in the form of a singularly witty Tweet by @MelissaFoodie: “Gavroche bends to current food trend pressure with new menu.” Attached was a photograph of a defaced menu at Le Gavroche, on which the description of each dish had been appended with the word “burger”. I LOLd.
You could see the rise and rise of the burger as part of the infantilisation of dining culture. They force you to eat at 5pm, or to queue up for two hours, so why not give you a variation on a Big Mac and a shake to boot, before they get the card machine to solicit a tip on top of the service that was included already? But then – a good burger is a good burger. Great, even. In New York, the best have become the stuff of legend – like the burger at The 21 Club or the Black Label Burger at Minetta Tavern. I’ve had plenty of them. And liked them all in different ways. But the trend in London has been towards the low end. The Zeitgeist here is less about red leather banquettes, booths and louche indulgence, and more about the queue outside Five Guys on Long Acre – a lineup of the slow-witted, laden with their Victoria’s Secret and Abercrombie bags and Zone 4 day returns. It makes the experience at the Corner Bistro dive bar in New York’s West Village look like lunch at Le Grand Véfour. Really: who has the time or the inclination for the humiliation or abuse?
The queue outside Five Guys on Long Acre – a lineup of the slow-witted, laden with their Victoria’s Secret and Abercrombie bags and Zone 4 day returns
Most grown-up restaurants with a penchant for red meat offer a burger of sorts, from Hawksmoor to Hoi Polloi (both good, but the latter really needs to work on its buns). And of all the proper restaurants in London that offer burgers, Bar Boulud has a stand out reputation, and for good reason: Daniel Boulud was one of the first chefs in America to really posh-up the patty.
Bar Boulud’s location on the ground floor of the Mandarin Oriental in Knightsbridge puts it in that weird geographical interzone of visiting Eurotrash, Candy & Candy architectural atrocities, and well-groomed working women with Slavic accents who stick to cappuccino because they don’t drink while they’re on the clock. But, you know, sometimes you find yourself on Sloane Street and you fancy a burger medium rare with a glass of something red. You want somewhere buzzy but relaxed, and glossy and comfortable. You want nice lighting. And for that, Bar Boulud, which transports you to midtown Manhattan the minute you walk through its door, is perfect: it has great service, a pretty room, generous portions, proper cocktails made with single giant rocks of ice, and a lush Trinity Hill Syrah by the glass. You just know you could be as finicky with your order and beverage requests here as the most eye-rollingly difficult Elnette-haired Upper East Sider, and they’d accommodate you.
There’s a whole list of charcuterie and pâtés, and a lovely boudin blanc with mash, but the main event at Bar Boulud is the BB Burger. It’s £20. But then, Daniel Boulud has a seasonal burger at DB Bistro Moderne in New York that comes with two layers of black truffle and costs $140. And at Shake Shack in London you’ll pay £9 for a double cheeseburger and then have to eat it in the Covent Garden Piazza, where you’ll want to kill yourself. So the BB Burger is both a bargain and worth the extra spend. And really – stop thinking about a burger holistically, and as junk food. Take away the bun and it should be prime meat.
When I visited Bar Boulud recently, I shared a plate of pork belly chunks (good, but could have been a tad crisper) before tackling the BB Burger, medium rare. It’s a messy, moist beast to eat with your hands, so I gave up after one mouthful and took up my cutlery. The stack of beef, red wine braised short ribs, mayo and confit tomato ended up detonated across my plate with chunks of soft black onion seed bun. Yes, your burger might hold up better at Byron, but if you’re going on taste alone, it’s difficult to find fault with Boulud’s. A foie gras slice gives it just the right amount of earthy funk. The bun is the perfect mix of fresh soft dough and al dente glaze. The fries too, are excellent: thin, crisp and piping hot. Compare and contrast to the cold, old, tragic chips I had at Jackson + Rye recently, which were passed around my table to a growing crescendo of critical disbelief.
Eating the BB Burger is one of those all too brief emotional journeys: there’s the anticipation and the excitement. You’re expecting a treat. You can’t eat like this all the time. (Well, of course you could…) And then it’s happening. You’re in the moment. And then it’s over, because you’re too full. It’s too rich. You can’t go on, as much as you want to. And you’re annoyed with yourself for not turning up hungrier. Or shunning the bread basket.
And yet: I asked my dining companion what he thought – and he disagreed with me. He thought it was excellent, but had a list of caveats: “The ones at Meat Mission and Meat Market are better. And I think Honest Burgers and Lucky Chip too.” They may well be, but those restaurants – most of which foster queues outside, refuse reservations, and attract the kind of clientele that has a penchant for Nicki Minaj – may as well be on the moon as far as I’m concerned. Very occasionally, I’m in the mood for a really good burger. But I’m never in the mood for any of that. C
Bar Boulud, Mandarin Oriental, 66 Knightsbridge, London SW1X 7LA
020 7201 3899; barboulud.com