[Pigging by Wilfrid: June 20, 2011] Remember when this was no big deal? When you were happy with a competently made bar burger, and occasionally you'd make a big-deal visit to Corner Bistro or Molly's or even Peter Luger for something more special?
The Brindle Room burger
Farewell innocence. Now we have an amazing tricked out new burger every week and a restaurant which doesn't have something special in the meat-in-a-bun line hangs its head in shame. Time, I thought, for a catch up.
Anyway, this is all very big deal and exclusive, unlike the burgers of our mutual youth.
Despite its reputation as a raucous haunt of the young and tousled, I've never found Peels on the Bowery to be an especially exclusive place. Not that I go there on Friday nights. It was mid-evening on a Tuesday that I wandered upstairs, pulled up a bar-stool, and called for the burger deluxe which they democratically and sanely serve all day.
The beef is allegedly trimmed from the big grass-fed ribeye steaks offered on the menu. The kitchen, it seems, butchers (or "breaks down") the steaks - presumably from a primal cut rather than from a whole cow. I'm surprised this garners enough good stuff for a burger, but no complaints about the well-flavored patty here. It's a tall patty, very thick but not so wide. The sandwich seems about to topple over when it arrives, but actually the whole thing is by no means huge.
Points for the cheese, which is a good cheddar and tastes like it. Subtract a few for the onions. There is a current trendlet in the direction of default onions. Okay, but these weren't sliced or chopped, just cut into big chunks. This meant they easily fell out of the sandwich - which was okay, because I didn't really want to eat big chunks of onion. Deluxe is default too and although the fries were good - hand cut and skin-on - there were enough for two people. I finished the burger before I'd made any serious progress with the fries (and of course they got cold so I gave up.) Unnecessarily generous.
Not sure if the beer was generously poured or the mug just made it look huge. That's a pint of La Chouffe, not a weak beer by any means.
The problem with the Peels burger? The bun. A soft roll, the bottom perhaps two millimetres thick. I don't exaggerate. Result? The meat juices and the salad just drench straight through it leaving you with a seriously wet handful of sandwich. Juices we love, but they must be contained. You had to turn it upside down right away, and it was still a seven napkin job. $16 fully garnished.
I can't love The Commodore on Metropolitan Avenue as a venue. I've described it before - the unmarked entrance leading to a small, scruffy dining room and a dark bar next door. The bar strives to be hip. Surfer movies on the television. Tiki-ish cocktails in garish plastic beakers. Sluggish service. Worth enduring all for the terrific fried chicken and biscuits. But the burger?
It has been anointed the best in town by some burger mavens. It looks splendidly jaunty on arrival (sides are separate). In some photos it has a Tiki-style umbrella stuck in it. On this occasion, happily no - although I am glad I spotted the plastic cocktail stick before taking a bite.
Again, no Pat LaFrieda. The meat is apparently sourced from a local farm. It doesn't much matter as it's hard to taste it. The patties are medium-thin, about Shake Shack size. Rather than being loosely hand-moulded, they are clearly pressed into shape (they have neat, straight sides) and they are offered only medium. My burger, at least, remained pinkish - not overcooked.
But what else does that soft bun have to hold? A whole bunch of stuff, true fast-food style. A mess of salad and chopped raw onions and sliced tomato and what was claimed to be mayo but tasted to me like one of those thin, sweet-ish "special sauces" some chefs like to kill burgers with.
What do you get? What I am going to call the" gyro effect." Remember what it feels like being halfway through a late night gyro (or doner) kebab? You find yourself holding a soggy mess of salad and sauce and pieces of something with the vague texture of ground meat - and all that's holding it together are disintegrating strips of pita bread?
That's how this burger grips after a few bites inject the bread with the sandwich's copious liquids. It's like eating stew with your bare hands. And the beef hardly stand a chance. Ungarnished, $7, but way overrated.
Which brings us to the pick of the three, the steakhouse-style burger at The Brindle Room, which would win the contest simply in virtue of its robust structure. The base of the roll is not thick, but it is toasted and impermeable. Just an ordinary, sesame seeded bun as far as I can see, but it works. You don't need a soup spoon.
The substantial patty is cooked to order - medium rare for me - comes topped with the inevitable onions - properly chopped and caramelized - and your choice of cheese. AHT compared this sandwich with the $26 Black Label burger at Minetta Tavern. And you know what? Absolutely right. The resemblance is remarkable. In fact, I thought the Black Label patty pushed the whole dry-aged beef thing too far - the texture of the meat had advanced so far into a state of desirable decay that it was like eating beef mousse. The Brindle Room burger is headed that way, but stops mercifully short of the extreme.
You can readily believe this is aged beef. It has the tang, it has the texture, it stands up to the cheese and onions (no mound of salad or special sauce, just some pickles on the side). Fries - too many again - are okay but maybe a little heavily tanned for some. $12 for the plate. There's the pick of the bunch. Now if only they'd put it on the dinner menu for those of us who can't take a nap in the afternoon.
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