Burger Bar Joint

Yes. But another restaurant specializing in (need I say it?) hamburgers. From New York to Dubai. Buenos Aires to Madrid. World famous chefs and “armchair quarterbacks” all over the world seem to be attempting to put their special spin on improving the humble hamburger, leaving those of us that have been consuming them since we were “knee-high to a grasshopper” wondering, “Why are you attempting to improve what’s already the perfect meal?”

And what’s with that name? The Burger Bar Joint? Seems it can only be a Burger Bar or a Burger Joint. But both?

Linguistic faux-pas aside, this restaurant is oddly confused on décor as well. It’s part Texas barn with rough-hewn wood planks and bricks on the walls, and part “50’s diner”, uber-retro, red and black naugahyde and chrome chairs and booths. Odd. But it’s certainly more pleasing than the dirty, torn upholstery at many a restaurant in Mexico City.

The service? The entire staff was busy trying to clean-up the minor mess made on the back terrace by the quick, torrential downpour. Despite this, the service was spot-on. I note, however, that there were only about four or five tables occupied in the entire restaurant.

I ordered the Old School Burger, the classic cheeseburger with lettuce, onions and tomatoes. They got the linguistics right on this one. It was “old school”, just the way a burger should be.
This burger was well constructed. A thick, coarsely ground patty (possibly a little too thick), with the perfect fat content, well-seasoned, on a hefty brioche bun.

That beautiful egg-washed bun was sprinkled with black sesame seeds. The lettuce was the leafy part of a head of Romaine lettuce. Ripe tomatoes and a slice of white-onion. Everything by the book. The cheese was beautifully melted over that patty.

That tower of burger looked impressive. And luckily, with a bit of reorganizing and a slight bit of pressure on that top bun, I was able to fit the entire thing into my mouth. And due to the right consistency of that bun, the whole burger managed to stay in one piece in my hands through the entire laborious process of consuming it. An engineering feat for sure.

The French fries were McDonald’s impersonators. Skinny, fully-peeled, and pretty obviously bagged and frozen. But they were hot and crisp. That’s better than I can say for the fries served up with that fancy “uptown” burger at Polanco’s Butcher & Sons a few days earlier.

Final verdict. Odd name and odd décor aside, this is a pleasant environment, with a friendly, efficient staff of waiters serving up really-good burgers and fries. Prices, reasonable. Nuf said.