#meateasy

#MEATEASY

Cuisine: American

Nearest tube: New Cross Gate

Address: 316 New Cross Road, SE14 6AF 

Tel: 020 8692 7381

#meateasy might end up killing me. If it does, I will die a happy man.

Since I was introduced to #meateasy a month ago, I have been there every week without fail. I may not live to see March. Tell my family I love them.

Each visit takes years off my life. Each bite lops off weeks, if not months. But who wants to live forever? Life is fundamentally awful, and I look upon #meateasy as the most glorious suicide imaginable.

So, as I sit here planning my next visit along with my funeral arrangements, let me tell you a bit about #meateasy. It used to be a van, called the Meatwagon, which served burgers that were so delicious that somebody stole it. The owner has now temporarily relocated to the upstairs of Goldsmiths Tavern in New Cross. 

I stress the word 'temporarily' - #meateasy will allegedly be gone by March, a fact which fills me with terror and despair. But judging by how rammed it gets after mere minutes of opening, I am hopeful that it might stick around a bit longer.

#meateasy is a hidden gem in the shittiest of shitholes. Anyone unfortunate enough to have ever travelled south of the river knows what I'm talking about, so believe me when I tell you it's not a journey I take lightly. New Cross Gate is an utter dive, the creatures who stalk the streets are ugly and probably all criminals, and every time I go there I am sure I will be killed and have my shoes stolen (and my shoes are nothing special).

If you manage to walk five minutes down the road without being 'shanked', then you will find Goldsmiths Tavern, a gloomy establishment that belies the veritable Mecca hidden on its upper floor. There are parallels one could draw with Anne Frank, but I wouldn't be tasteless enough to do that, suffice to say that had Metro been in circulation in 1940s Amsterdam, they would definitely blabbed her location to the entire population.

Anyway, you take a right at Goldsmiths Tavern, walk down a dark, piss-soaked alley, round the back of the pub into a grimy, dilapidated excuse for a beer garden, up a flight of metal stairs, into the building and congratulations: your life expectancy will be halved within the next few weeks.

The interior is done up like a 1920s speakeasy (or at least what I imagine a speakeasy would look like, having done no research into the topic) with dim lighting, jazz memorabilia and a cocktail bar in the corner. You take a numbered ticket, grab a seat if you're lucky, then take a look at the menu scrawled on the walls to choose your food.

Cheeseburger, bacon cheeseburgers, chilli cheeseburgers, philly cheesesteaks, chili cheesedogs - you get the general idea. There is nothing healthy, no salads or vegetables of any kind, and the only green thing you'll find on the premises is a wedge of lime in your drink. 

After a long wait depending on how many South London middle-class trendy twats have turned up, your number is screamed at you from across the room by a friendly yet increasingly irate hostess, who gets more and more angry as the evening progresses. Someone really ought to invest in an electronic number display.

You go to the counter, a bit like getting your school dinners, place your order, go and sit back down again, and wait some more. At this point you could buy a cocktail from the bar, chat quietly and enjoy the lively ambience, or gnaw your own fingers off in anticipation like I usually do.

When your food is ready, said angry waitress will screech your name which you invariably won't hear because it's so goddamn loud in there, you will eventually realise she's talking to you, you panic and go 'Uhh yeah! Me? Over here!" and the angry waitress will be angry with you for not reacting faster and angrily serve you your food, which would normally make me angry were it not for the fact that it's so ruddy good.

I just ate an apple and immediately sicked it up because it wasn't #meateasy.

The food is served in polystyrene bowls and paper plates. There is no glamour or stylish presentation, just a burger on a paper plate. It doesn't need it. When your food arrives, an excited silence descends upon your table as everyone hunches over, lifts their plate up to their mouth and tries to eat without spilling it all over their shoes (like I did). 

It's dirty, it's messy, it's greasy, and it's the best dining experience I've had for months. The burgers are ludicrously thick and pink in the middle with that reassuringly meaty texture that lets you know that you are eating top-drawer ingredients. Burger juice oozes out and spills onto your plate in puddles. The bun is thick, moist and doughy, and is filled with all the right things, including fluorescent cheese slices and generous slices of tangy gherkin. It's perfect. It makes Byron taste like McDonalds.

The chili cheesedog, my personal favourite, is a creation of hedonistic excellence. It's the kind of thing the Prince Regent would have eaten in his luxury pavilion, or Henry VIII probably enjoyed at his royal banquets. The bun is almost like a croissant or a brioche, crusty on the outside and deliciously light and sweet in the middle. The hotdog is the best you're likely to find, so I'll pass on the multitude of phallic adjectives. The chili is superb, with just the right balance of meatiness and pepperiness, which isn't even a noun. This is topped off with diced onion, grated cheese and American mustard. It immediately falls to pieces in your hands, it goes all over your mouth, hands and clothes, and it's absolutely wonderful.

The macaroni cheese is outstanding, with a crusty topping, a sprinkle of spring onion and a rich, gooey consistency. The chili cheese fries are more than the sum of their parts. The onion rings are staggeringly thick and cooked to perfection, but too greasy even for my tastes. The bacon cheeseburger is far too salty, but I am told that everything else on the menu is great, including the chocolate brownie dessert.

I can't carry on writing about #meateasy. It's making me cry because I'm not there right now. I will end this review with the strongest of recommendations to go there, and go there early (aim for 6pm). The price is great for the quality (around £7 for a burger and £3-5 for a side dish). 

Get down there tomorrow if you can. You can thank me later.

Service 3/5

Food 5/5

Value 4/5

Ambience 4/5

Total: 16/20

Why you should go there: Because it's awesome.

Don’t leave without trying: The cheeseburger and chili cheesedog.

Byron

BYRON

Cuisine: American

Nearest tube: Covent Garden

Address: 33-35 Wellington Street, WC2E 7BN

Tel: 0207 420 9850

Aha. So that's what a burger is supposed to taste like.

I'll go on record to say that this is the best burger I've ever had, and I don't even like burgers that much. My solitary trip to GBK I found uninspiring, yet something about this chain of diners brings an otherwise dull dish to life. Going out to have burgers for an evening meal was once unfathomable to me, but having been to Byron twice, it's likely to remain a staple of my eatery circle. 

Byron is decked out in classic American 50's diner deco, with a touch of class (note the mirrored toilet doors) and is usually full, as I suspect its reputation is beginning to spread. Upon arrival, one of a gaggle of cheery female waitresses welcomes us in and seats us, reminding me how much of a difference service with a smile really makes (note to waiters/waitresses in general: cheer up, might never happen.)

The menu is minimalist and reassuringly simple, a small piece of card with a list of about five different burgers and side orders. So many restaurants have such a bewildering range of options that choosing your meal can become an ordeal (GBK, I'm talking to you). It's refreshing to have your choices limited, and the only real option here is a classic cheeseburger. My connoisseur friend Gerard assures me that American cheese - the luminous orange processed variety - is the only way to go, so I advise others to do likewise and avoid the temptation of messing around with mature cheddar/blue/Monterey Jack/Gruyere. It's an American classic, so let's leave it to the experts.

The burgers arrive: colourful, traditional, and mouth-wateringly simple. The bun is toasted just enough to have blackened slightly around the edges, giving a subtle charred edge to the flavour; the burger itself is thick, juicy and pink the middle, with a course, meaty texture and that distinct flame-grilled taste that I can only seem to find in France with a good steak hache, the kind of flavour that Burger King lie about having. It's nice to find a burger that isn't well-done by default - I wouldn't eat a steak like that, so why should my burger be incinerated? Byron gets everything spot-on.

Therein lies the beauty of the classic burger that has sadly been lost over the years. It doesn't need to be anything fancy. There's nothing extraordinary here: bun, burger, cheese, tomato, red onion, lettuce, mayo. But it just works. When you have good quality ingredients cooked to perfection, very little else is needed to deliver a top-drawer meal.

I haven't even mentioned the sides yet, which are of the same high quality: the French fries are faultless, the home made skin-on chips are thick, crispy and tasty. The onion rings are excellent, and the courgette fries - lightly battered slices of courgette - are definitely worth trying. I accompany all of the above with my own special concoction of Ketchustanaise (ketchup + mustard + mayo - try it, it's the only thing you'll ever eat with your chips again). Washed down with a can of cream soda, what more could you want?

In short, this is the perfect burger. Simple and delicious. The service is great, the prices are reasonable, and the food is faultless. Do yourself a favour, get down to Byron, and fall in love again with an old classic.

Service 4/5

Food 4/5

Value 4/5

Ambience 3/5

Total: 15/20

Why you should go there: A neglected classic brought to life with elegant simplicity.

Don’t leave without trying: American cheeseburger

Bodean's

BODEAN'S

Cuisine: American

Nearest tube: Oxford Circus

Address: 10 Poland Street, W1F 8PZ

Tel: 0207 287 7575

'Need no teef to eat my beef', says the slogan. I wouldn't go as far as saying the food is worth smashing all your teeth out for, but it's certainly tasty.

As the most recent addition to the established tradition of 'Meat Night', Bodean's came with some high praise from friends, and certainly fulfilled the criteria of being a) meaty, and b) heart-stoppingly unhealthy.

Upstairs is a busy New York-style deli, where regulars sit chowing down on their famous Soho special sandwich, but downstairs is where the magic happens. Basking in the warm red glow that's synonymous with poorly-lit American underground BBQ restaurants, Bodean's comes complete with flatscreen TVs showing US sport, which gave us the added bonus of seeing replays of Chael Sonnen giving Anderson Silva reconstructive facial surgery with his fists circa UFC 117 while we ate our food. I love this place already.

On every table are two, yes two bottles of BBQ sauce - regular and chipotle. Just get me a straw and I'll be a happy man. We order nachos and wings with extra hot sauce for starters, the former unspectacular and slightly anaemic, the latter juicy, greasy and spicy, just the way I like it. The wings were good, and had clearly been freshly cooked, unlike a lot of places who commit the cardinal sin of microwaving their wings. Two sauce-covered thumbs up so far.

My main course is pulled pork and baby back ribs, which were tasty enough but nothing special, both slightly dry and overcooked. But it's on the side orders that we really uncover Bodean's hidden gems: Burnt Ends. Two words that will haunt me for the rest of my days. Slow-smoked chunks of beef brisket served in a light BBQ sauce - moist, fatty, succulent, delicious. Also outstanding are the chilli cheese fries - whilst the fries are average, the chilli is excellent, with that distinct beefy, peppery flavour that American chilli alone manages to nail.


**UPDATE** Upon our second visit, we ordered the diablo wings again, and they were literally the most mind-blowingly delicious chicken I have ever eaten. Fresh, juicy, smothered in an explosive sauce that has a slow burn, the perfect level of spice, that had me sucking my fingers like a disgusting animal to get every last drop. My main was the Soho Special sandwich - a mushed up patty of burnt ends and pulled pork, no more than the sum of its parts but certainly satisfying.

The only other disappoint comes with the lack of a huge sundae option for dessert, but it's probably just as well, as the burnt ends have probably shaved about a decade off my life expectancy. Needless to say, I'll be going back for more soon.

Service 4/5

Food 3/5

Value 2/5

Ambience 3/5

Total: 12/20

Why you should go there: Burnt ends and diablo hot wings.

Don’t leave without trying: Burnt ends and diablo hot wings.