Across the Burger Spectrum

Before getting to the good stuff, I'm going to tell you about a bad burger I ate recently. In my zeal to try all the burgers in Midtown East, I had my first really awful burger from a Greek diner called Townhouse-something-or-other in the East 30's (I really don't even care about this place enough to look up the real name).

Seeing that the only two options for cheese were cheddar or feta should have been my first red flag, but I rolled with it and decided for feta. It was a Greek diner so it seemed right (and I've never liked cheddar on burgers). When the burger arrived at my apartment in little over 30 minutes, I immediately noticed the soggy, grease flavored fries and all around sad appearance.

The burger itself was an overly charred, preformed patty with a melted spitball of feta placed between the limp bun and soggy, browning lettuce and tomatoes. Yet, having spent twelve bucks, this was my dinner whether I liked it or not. I picked off the rabbit food and went for the burger. All I tasted was charred beef and salty feta... maybe not the worst burger but absolutely not something I would spend money on again.

I got through about three quarters of the burger before deciding I'd had enough. I started to feel slightly sick to my stomach almost immediately (although it could have been psychosomatic). A fruit cup also came with the burger and I stupidly figured it would be palatable (and healthy). I had four pieces of bland, wet fruit before seeing a crushed mosquito chilling on a grape. A second wave of disgust hit me, and my stomach felt even worse. At this point, I was determined to not let this burger pass through my system, so I decided to do the unthinkable.

I've never actually "made" myself throw up. Admittedly while lying in bed, curled up a fetal position and clutching my stomach after a long night of drinking-- I've given up the struggle and dragged myself into the bathroom. But sticking-fingers-into-throat to make myself throw up-- never.

Hell, I'm an adventurous guy who is willing to try new things, so I might as well make the attempt. A few tentative pokes activated my gag reflex, but nothing happened besides some weak spit. Now I was pissed. If a college Freshman girl can do this, surely I can make it happen? I jammed two fingers into the back of my throat, sending a shock of pain down to my Adam's apple, but now all that came out was acidic stomach juice. I tried in vain a few more times, but my stomach only got angrier and  my throat throbbed harder. I finally gave up, collapsing onto my couch with an overwhelming feeling of failure.

So now that I've disgusted everyone with my tale of burger and personal failure (and if you're still reading), let me describe a far better burger experience last week on a return trip to The Breslin. My first meal was a letdown, but I had not tried the burger, one of the most popular options on the menu.

The Breslin is All Grown Up

There are many dangers inherent in "reviewing" a restaurant after a single meal (I apologize, but I still cannot bring myself to call anything I write a true "review" without the added sarcasm of the overused finger flexion). I think it's fair to say that I would never pass judgment on a restaurant after a single visit, unless I had a wildly fantastic or horrible experience (the bad ones are always more fun to write about). Yet it's the restaurant that falls in the middle of my own personal curve that makes for difficult writing, especially when I've only eaten there once.

So with that said, I'm not sure what to say about The Breslin, the relatively new restaurant from Ken Freidman and April Bloomfield of the Spotted Pig (and the late John Dory, which may rise again). At this point, The Breslin is beyond the infancy and preschool days of the initial hype, and has passed the proficiency tests of the major critics. All that's left is to either keep turning out meals at a high-level or move on to the next stage in it's restaurant life. In keeping with the metaphor, it's probably a bit like getting your college degree, but having no clue what to do with the rest of your life (I assume zero stars or a quick closing means you got caught blowing coke in your dorm room and get thrown out of school). Where do you go from here?

A good friend from law school, and one of the few people from my class who actually got (and retained) her biglaw job (mainly because she's brilliant), was in the city from Atlanta and wanted a good meal (we were law school cooking buddies). She will hereinafter be called "Future Partner" or "FP." I initially threw out a few suggestions, but we decided to wing it, settling on The Breslin over a round of Maker's Marks at her hotel bar.

Quick Bite: Lunch at No. 7 Sub Shop

In the past six months the Ace Hotel on 29th and Broadway has become the epicenter of the hipster foodie scene in Manhattan with the opening of The Breslin (and the rumored return of the John Dory), the first New York outpost of Stumptown Coffee, and now No. 7 Sub Shop. One of the first things I was taught in law school was the importance of defining one's terms, but with "hipster" and "foodie" the labels are fraught with so much peril and negative connotations that I will just throw up my hands and say "fuck it!" Having said that, there's definitely a vibe around the Ace Hotel which causes most people to immediately scream "hipster!" (never in my life have I overheard so many conversations using the term "social media" in one sitting).

No. 7 Sub Shop itself is located on Broadway, around the corner from the main entrance to the hotel. Walking in, the tall ceilings and dark wood-paneled walls dominate the room, making the cooks working feverishly behind the long counter look tiny in comparison. The expediter wore a Rushmore Academy Beekeeping Club t-shirt as he casually called out order numbers to the packed, steaming hot room. The menu is almost impossible to read in the dimness of the shop. Each sandwich (all are $9) is described on an individually framed poster, and the glare off the frames means anyone debating their order is forced to lean forward and squint to read each sandwich description.