Thursday, 22 December 2011
Meat Liquor - the famous Dead Hippie burger, and how I turned in to my dad.
Meatliquor. As ever, I'm late to the party.
In brief (long year, I'm tired): good enough burger. Not the double-pattied nirvana the blogosphere promised, not a patch on this bad boy, but tasty and carnal nonetheless.
The chicken in the chicken burger. Brilliant texture, great crunchy coating, let down by a papery bun:
Onion rings - not quite crispy enough, again almost great.
A long, long time ago, when I was 12 and three quarters, I went with my family for lunch to a groovy restaurant south of LA called El Ranchitos. El Ranchitos was Californication-esque. Grungy but not really grungy, dive-bar ish but actually quite clean. They played thumping loud 80s cock-rock, and more to the point they made mean burgers.
We'd been there a whole 5 minutes before my dad asked the hot tattooed waiter to turn the rock and roll down. I can still remember the moritification my near-teenage self felt when the waiter said no, and my dad dragged us out of there.
Tonight, Matthew, I am my dad. I can live with the Dexter-ish slaughter / blood themed decor at Meatliquor.
I stopped short of asking my hot tattooed waiter to turn the music down, but the thought crossed my mind. Which made me feel old, which made me feel cross.
If I were 26 and on a date, I'd love this place. It's fun, it's cool, and even though it knows it's cool you can forgive it because it has a sense of wit. I'd drink loads of the bourbon-based cocktails, wolf down the burger and think I was almost, almost in Williamsburg.
But I'm not 26. I was out with friends, talking about adult things like babies and careers and unreliable builders. And I was acutely aware that I wasn't in Williamsburg, but I was 2 minutes from the back door of John Lewis, and had yet to buy most of my loved ones the right Christmas present.
So I didn't love it. I liked it though. I really did.