Dirt Burger, Waggon And Horses

I can’t help myself, really. Faced with that long list of options (each one sounding worthy of its own entry) there was a sense of inevitability that I would choose the most outlandish burger, a concept that could easily have sailed east across the Atlantic from our American friends, a behemoth that would perhaps shave a year off my life if consumed. The Dirt Burger. A chuck steak patty, smoked bacon, lettuce, tomato and red onion. So far, so normal. A bun comprised of two toasted cheese sandwiches. Sorry, what was that?

It was a close-run thing though. There was the Truffle, tempting me with it’s addition of (you guessed it) black truffle to its patty. Or the Zombie Head Shot, given consideration merely because of its utterly ridiculous name, a moniker more at home on a trendy cocktail list than a food menu, but putting me off with its blue cheese and guacamole combo – neither of which I’m a fan of. But the Dirt Burger won out, the sheer novelty of two meals, breakfast and lunch, coming together in an unholy alliance under the burger banner.

For its breadth of scope, Waggon And Horses should be commended; offering no less than fifteen different burgers on its permanent menu and a further three specials, from which my companion for the day (the newly reinvigorated fiancé taking one for the team once again) chose her lunch – the Holy Guacamole. Comprised of chicken, halloumi, guacamole, salsa and salad, hers almost rivalled mine in sheer towering size.

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The Burger

Ah what a curious creature the Dirt Burger is, a sandwich of two halves so to speak; literally so, once I’d sawn it awkwardly in half for a cut-through shot. The first few mouthfuls are surprising but tasty – the toasties providing delicious melted cheese, the smoked bacon holding its own against a chunky and coarse patty that’s cooked well, and the raw red onion (my nemesis) not competing too aggressively to be the dominant flavour. The crunch of the toasted bread, boasting slightly too much char, is a not unwelcome texture to the experience, certainly providing a more durable receptacle to house the burger’s innards than several other buns I’ve had down the years that break apart as soon as you give them that first lustful glance. But as time wears on the Dirt Burger begins to become a bit of a chore. Those two layers of cheese that bookend the experience start to harden and congeal, and suddenly all the moisture of the burger gets sucked out. The patty, whilst undoubtedly of good quality, isn’t the most juicy, and with no detectable sauces hiding away under the salad, the Dirt Burger soon becomes the Dry Burger. I had to dunk the last four or five mouthfuls in my splodge of mayo reserved for my fries, so desperate was it for some moisture.

And afterwards, the remorse. The slow calculation of how many calories might have just been consumed. The post-burger belly beginning to cramp up immediately. The slowly-dawning dread that its actually a fair old walk back to the comforts of home. By no means a bad burger – this has plenty going for it, not least the sheer gluttony of it all – I won’t be eating it again. Although I’m certainly not put off in trying some of the other interesting looking sandwiches on the list.

The Fries

“Any spare centimetres in that overflowing gut of yours?” the Waggon And Horses asks? “We’ll see to that.”

Alongside my burger colossus on its tasteful wooden platter was a small white bowl positively overflowing with crisp golden fries. So much so that a rogue one sabotaged my artfully composed burger shot, and another had given up and launched itself off the side. Fantastic value at just £2.00 extra, the fries were tasty enough but almost immediately stone cold. Hard to begrudge this when they’re all sitting out in the open like that, far away from the warmth of their receptacle, but still – nobody really wants cold fries do they?

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The Venue

Waggon And Horses is a cosy little pub that sits on the corner of Jubilee Street and Church Street, where the staff are friendly and the whisky list is extensive. In the summer, the place positively heaves, buoyed by an enormous beer ‘garden’ (essentially an area staked out on the pavement outside) that attracts sun-seekers looking for liquid refreshment. Inside, you’ll find the usual items that denote classic English pubs up and down the land – fruit machines, brass light fittings, and old boys in flat caps whiling away a lazy lunch hour. The staff were suitably warm and friendly, like most places in this fair town, and all in all its a very decent little boozer.

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Summary

For sheer novelty factor, the Dirt Burger will be tough to beat. Whilst the Troll Pantry surprises and delights with exotic ingredients (take a bow, Jim Beam bourbon) the Dirt Burger goes for all-out calorific war, fusing two gutbusting meals into one, and channeling the spirit of American burger joints across the pond. But here’s the rub – it actually gets worse as a burger rather than better, mainly because of that lack of greasy, juicy goodness that keeps a burger satisfying to the end. Here’s a pro tip: if you do get one – and you still should, all things considered – split it with a friend, and wolf down those decadent toasties whilst the cheese is still all good and gooey. You, and your belly, will thank me for it.

Price: £7.50 (+ £2.00 for the fries)

Rating 3.5 out of 5

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Smoky Mountain, The Troll’s Pantry

Expectations can be tricky things. When they’re low, and met, there’s an element of pleasant surprise. But unfulfilled expectations can be a crushing disappointment. It’s fair to say that my expectations of the burgers being served up at The Troll’s Pantry were sky-high. Almost everyone who had got in touch with recommendations via the fledgling Brighton Burgers Twitter account  had suggested the place. Claims of the ‘best burger in Brighton’ were being bandied about with eyebrow-raising frequency. How could The Troll’s Pantry not be the next establishment I visited?

After checking its various media channels, I read of horror stories of an hour’s wait to be served at the one-man burger van. So, to be safe, I headed for Circle Street – where The Troll’s Pantry sits in the corner of a car park opposite a wood recycling centre – earlier than opening hours on a bitterly cold Saturday morning. To be presented with a boarded up van, no queues and an empty car park. Great.

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My companion for the day (a friend of mine eager to pick up the slack from my burgered-out fiancé) and I crashed down on the bench outside of the wood store, and the only seating we could see, and began to chat. But then a funny thing happened. By the time 12pm had rolled around and we surfaced from our chinwag, a queue had stealthily formed in front of the van. The hatch opened, and a handful of people were already ordering. The rumours were true – The Troll’s Pantry was hot news among those looking for a tasty burger. Finally, it was our turn to order. The special for the day, was the ominous-sounding Hellfire, composed of scary things like ghost naga chillies and tequila, and well out of my spice comfort zone. So I plumped for the Smoky Mountain, one of two unchanging stalwarts on the menu along with the classic-sounding Imperial. Five or so minutes later, we retrieved our burgers and somehow managed to reclaim the bench. I took my first bite, and expectations were blown away.

The Burger

Succulent. Juicy. Sweet. Smoky. And yes, a little bit mountainous. Basically, pick an adjective. The first taste of the Smoky Mountain is an explosion of flavour, underscored by the moistness and greasiness of that beef – a 35-day-aged English Longhorn steak pattie cooked to perfection and melting perfectly in the mouth.

Then come the various complimentary notes – a jam comprised of smoked bacon and bourbon, the soft-as-butter caramelised onions, the smoked foresters cheese, a hint of healthy greens in the shredded lettuce forming a bed for that juicy beef. Finally a subtle note of rum BBQ sauce lingers just long enough on the palette before the next heavenly bite. All housed in a home-made brioche bun that, just about, manages to hold firm till the end in the face of all those delicious ingredients. My friend was ready to rejoin the queue (which by this point had already become substantial) for another burger halfway through his first, but by the time we had both devoured our last bites, we were well and truly sated.

At £7, the Smoky Mountain isn’t cheap, but its quality speaks for itself, and it’s hard to begrudge paying extra for a burger that’s clearly put together with a lot of love, skill and effort, in a clearly exhausting environment. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a masterpiece of a burger. I already have my eye on a few of the other specials (the Troll’s Stinky Breath Burger – made with blue cheese and anchovies, perhaps, or the Winter Nymph, with blackberry and cognac peppercorn sauce) and even, maybe, putting my faith in this great burger chef enough to plump for that fearsome Hellfire. In short, go as soon as you can.

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The Fries

There were none. With demand so steep, and manpower so limited, The Troll’s Pantry only offers three burgers each day and a small selection of drinks. No sides. Don’t fret though – you’ll be full enough.

Summary

A browse of The Troll Pantry’s blog reveals a possible pop-up restaurant in some lucky pub in the near future, and it can’t come a moment too soon. As an experience, eating at The Troll’s Pantry would be difficult to recommend without the sensational food, especially in the winter months. With no seating or protection against the elements, lunch here isn’t going to be a long and lazy affair. This is for those looking for their burger fix, and won’t let a thing like the lack of a chair or heating to deter them.

With a product this fantastic, though, it can only be a good thing when more people can get their hands on it – such is the demand, The Troll’s Pantry is only open 11.30am to 2pm Wednesday to Friday, and 12pm till 3pm on a Saturday. So get there, vote with your wallets, get this extraordinary eatery the upgrade in digs it deserves, and celebrate the fact that there’s a rather special place to stuff your face with gourmet burgers in this brilliant seaside town. This is the start of something big, and I’m already counting the days till I can eat there again.

Price: £7

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

JB’s Classic (Double), JB’s American Diner

I was hungry. Really, really hungry. After spending most of Sunday hungover and nibbling feebly at whatever was put in front of me, and a meagre ham and cheese sandwich comprising lunch, I knew I was going all out at JB’s American Diner as we made the short walk to the coast to sit down for Monday night nosh. I’m not much of a spice man, so their Cross The Border (with coriander salsa and jalapenos) ruled itself out. As too did the Blue’s (sic) Brothers burger; I have to be in a very particular mood for blue cheese. I also think grilled pineapple in a burger is the work of the Devil, so the Honolulu never stood a chance.

I’d have to keep it simple, then. Step forward the JB’s Classic – staying true to its name with beef burger, lettuce, tomato and red onion, with fries and a completely redundant side salad thrown in for the price. I knew that wouldn’t be enough though; and JB’s knew that too, thoughtfully giving me the option of adding cheese and bacon (at 60p per item) and, the motherlode, doubling the patty for an extra £2.15. It was on, like Donkey Kong.

Side-stepping the tempting shakes – I’d succumbed on my previous visit here a number of years ago, and barely dented my food – I plumped for a Dr. Pepper. My fiancé ordered a Diet Coke and the falafel burger, but I took about as much interest in that as I would watching the proverbial paint dry. With the orders placed, and stomachs rumbling like volcanos, we were at leisure to check out the decor. JB’s American Diner does a pretty good job of recreating the formative days of the American burger joint, resplendent in red leather, polished chrome and a floor of black-and-white checks. A life-size statue of a US highway cop greets you on your way in, and every inch of every wall (and even the ceiling) is covered in pictures of stars you might expect (Elvis) and those that are a little more puzzling (Jessica Biel).

To cut a long story short, if it’s even remotely Americana-related or burger-related, it’s up on the wall. Complete with non-stop, chirpy hits from the 50s and 60s, JB’s has the kind of environment that is cool and quirky for the customers, whilst simultaneously guaranteed to drive its permanent staff slowly insane.

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The Burger

The waitress mumbled something about a ‘monster’ as she gave me my plate. I couldn’t tell whether she was describing the burger, or me, for ordering such a thing. She was accurate either way – a doubled-up burger at JB’s Diner is an indulgent, gluttonous thing. I knew I’d erred the instant it was put down in front of me; I would be no match for this towering beast. The first bite was just sheer beef, punctuated only briefly by that raw red onion lurking underneath the patty duo. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not a fan of raw red onion, but I know it’s a standard burger item so I let its inclusion slide. The added cheese and bacon were undetectable, however, hidden underneath that explosion of meat flavour caused by two very dense patties. There weren’t any complexities of flavour from the beef either; no hint of seasoning, no chargrilled notes, no texture to speak of. Just dense and moist, and all-consuming. Towards the edges of the burger, the cheese (melted and hardened again, by this point) and bacon finally got a look in.

If you go for a doubled JB’s Classic yourself, feel free to skip them as you’d hardly notice their absence anyway. Perhaps they play a more prominent role if you’re saner than I am and choose just the single patty. Finally, I’ll eat my hat if this isn’t a supermarket-bought seeded bap out of a pack of six. The slight charring on the inside edges wasn’t enough for the bottom half to disintegrate into a soggy mess, pitching the whole she-bang into disarray over the plate long before I’d finished it.

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The JB's Classic

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The Sides

To give JB’s American Diner its due, they do give incredible value for money. If the burger wasn’t enough to finish me on its own, the heaped mound of fries on the side certainly would have done the job. Light and crispy, they were unmemorable but plentiful, forming the bulk of the meal. The side salad, as predicted, stayed untouched. When I’m eating a burger, I know I’m being unhealthy (especially with this bad boy), so why bother trying to mitigate the fact? More surprising were the Jumbo Onion Rings, found on the Appetisers menu, but which we requested alongside our meals. They’re a little steep at £3.75, but are definitely as advertised; six jumbo battered rings, shot through with green splinters of thyme, and actually a very tasty side dish.

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Summary

I left a third of my chips and about four bites of my burger, lowering my cutlery a broken man. We briefly flirted with the idea of ordering a dessert to split between us – I had my eyes on either the Mississippi Mud Cake or the Chicago Cheesecake – but we came to our senses before taking the plunge. The waitress didn’t seem surprised. I’m sure I’m not the first customer to be downed by one of their double-sized behemoths. As we paid the bill, which was very, very reasonable, considering the amount of food we’d been served, I realised I was completely sated, but not entirely satisfied.

JB’s American Diner scratches a nostalgic itch for a time I never knew, only pieced together by fragments of old movies and books, and then cranks it up to number 11, cramming every ounce of Americana it can into the mix, whether it fits that 50s diner theme or not. There’s something a little soulless about it that I can’t quite explain, whilst at the same time being an enjoyable, decadent way to spend a few hours. I can recommend it quite easily, but (as cemented by the uncomfortable bloatedness I felt for the rest of the evening), I won’t be in a hurry to go back. Unless it’s for that cheesecake, of course.

Price: £6.95 (+ £1.20 for cheese and bacon, and £2.15 for doubling the patties)

Rating: 3 out of 5

Dirty Little Burger, The Chimney House

It’s all about balance. Tempering my enthusiasm of getting the Brighton Burgers phenomenon off the ground is the sobering realisation that my arteries are already screaming for mercy after three meat sandwiches in just four days. Step forward the Dirty Little Burger then, handily listed under the Bar Snacks menu, and costing just a measly £4. Couldn’t be too bad for me, right? What’s that? Do I want chips with it? Oh, go on then, you twisted my arm.

Sitting proudly atop a hill at the end of Upper Hamilton Road, it’s hard not to fall in love with The Chimney House as soon as you set foot in the place. Having been there before on several occasions (without ordering the burger, I hasten to add) I had to re-appraise it with my new critical writer’s eye as we stepped in out of the glorious, unseasonal February sunshine. It wasn’t found wanting. Wooden floors, a central bar stacked with home-made sausage rolls and jars of chutney made on-site, every table adorned with a small vase of flowers; The Chimney House impresses as a charming and rustic gastro-pub with a warm first impression. The bartender/waitress greeted us happily and invited us to sit anywhere we liked. I strategically chose a table behind a pillar from where I could snap away at my food to my heart’s content.

Exhausted from the relentless beef intake of the past few days, my fiancé retreated to the healthier climes of the proper lunch menu, ordering a chicken soup with dumplings and a dose of humble pie. I tucked my errant t-shirt in, scoffed at her lack of stamina and promptly ordered the only burger made at The Chimney House, the Dirty Little Burger. The side order of chips was offered and gratefully accepted. We whiled away a pleasant fifteen minutes with our drinks, the quiet conversation punctuated just once by the sudden hiss of my chips hitting the fryer in the kitchen behind us. Expectations began to mount.

The Burger

Turns out the Dirty Little Burger isn’t so little after all. But Dirty Medium-sized Burger just doesn’t have the cachet really, does it? It was definitely dirty, however, in the best possible way; my first bite was a molten, juicy bite of heaven, resulting in a rivulet of meaty liquid cascading down the cheese. A small tower of gherkin rounds were stacked to the side of the burger on the serving board (a presentational touch that I love), but were also present in the burger too, alongside rocket, chopped white onions, the cheese, the beef and ketchup. The bun was well-toasted and floury, just about achieving the required subsistence to contain the sheer dirtiness of the thing without disintegrating. The patty was nicely charred on the outside, but beautifully moist, clearly engaged in an ongoing battle with the glistening cheese to see who could make me reach for my napkin first. The ingredients and layering of the Dirty Little Burger reminded me of the make-up of a cheeseburger from McDonalds, especially that layer of onions and ketchup sitting on the bottom of the bun, but created with exceptional ingredients, rather than the mechanically-reclaimed shit that passes for meat under those golden arches. Plus, it’s only a couple of pounds more expensive, assembled with a great deal of care, and lovingly presented. I know what I’d rather eat.

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The Chips

Ordered separately as a side, but a filling dish in its own right, the chips filled a ceramic bowl that took up half the serving board. Hand-cut from big chunky potatoes, with the skin left on, these were a mighty fine accompaniment to the main attraction. Crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, just the way good chips should be, although maybe a fraction overdone to my taste, these were nevertheless enough to complete the meal. For a very reasonable £7 all-in, I destroyed everything presented before me without being uncomfortably full. That represents bloody good value in my eyes.

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The Venue

The Chimney House is a lovely little place to while away some time in. As I mentioned above, we’ve been here several times before, and always came away impressed with the place. Sitting outside of the main centre of Brighton, it might involve a little more effort to get to than the usual suspects (luckily it’s about three minutes walk away for me), but it’s totally worth the walk. Brunch, a quiet pint and a Friday evening date night have all been enjoyed here, for very reasonable prices. The service is consistently impeccable too, always delivered with a smile and a natter, and we’ve been given extra bread on several occasions free of charge. A gem of a pub that more people should know about, and definitely worth your time.

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Summary

Easily the best burger consumed in this fledgling burger adventure to date, and one that will take some beating, the Dirty Little Burger is a flavour-packed belter that’s not lacking for size, despite its name. If you like your patties juicy, your cheese gooey and your gherkins errr…. served both in the burger and on the side, you’ll love this burger. Try it immediately.

Price: £4 for the burger. £3 for the hand-cut chips (sold separately).

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

Twisted Tower Burger, Twisted Lemon

Tucked at the end of a narrow alley off Middle Street, opposite The Victory pub, is the secretive Twisted Lemon, one of the most bizarre restaurants I’ve visited in Brighton. Unless you’re paying attention, you’ll miss it – only a large sandwich board on the side of the road ensures it’s not completely out of sight, out of mind. On a Sunday afternoon, when a quick glance through the windows of every restaurant in sight revealed that every man and his dog was taking advantage of the weather, it came as something of a shock to be the only two people in Twisted Lemon.

To his credit, the barman was immediately attentive, asking us how he could help us. With bare tables in front of us, and a stairway disappearing up into darkness, we hesitantly replied that we were after food. After subtly letting us know that it was happy hour on cocktails, he bade us sit down and unleashed half a dozen laminated menus on us. We sat down, bewildered, both uneasy at the fact that we were the only two people in the establishment.

The burger chose itself, really – the most expensive, biggest-sounding concoction on the menu, the Twisted Tower Burger. When our order was taken, however, the incredibly amiable waiter informed me that they had run out of bacon. No bacon? With a corner shop just down the road, and no patrons in the building, surely it couldn’t have been much trouble to pop out for some? A burger joint without bacon? Unthinkable.

For some reason, the suggested substitute was halloumi. But it turns out that this came at the expense of the cheese too, so my burger was already short of an ingredient when I got it. A quick glance at its size, though, and I wasn’t too perturbed – this monster was compromised of a patty, three onion rings, mushrooms, lettuce, tomato, the afore-mentioned halloumi and my own Kryptonite ingredient – raw red onion.

The Burger

I was starving when I entered Twisted Lemon, so the first few mouthfuls of the Twisted Tower Burger were beautiful things. The patty was chunky and coarse, with the outside just a touch too charred. The bun was light but crispy, solid enough to encapsulate the embarrassment of riches within. But the chewiness of the halloumi began to make the burger a bit of a chore, and the onion rings were soggy, adding an unwelcome element of stodginess to the taste. Mushrooms and lettuce leaves began to spill out like wounds as the burger began to disintegrate. The size though, was immense, and initially the burger needed to be tamed with cutlery before it was manageable enough to pick up with the fingers.

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The Fries

The fries were slightly undercooked and pretty heavy – a side dish that reminded me of chips I might have been served in a school canteen. However, they were plentiful. Whilst £10.95, including the chips, felt like far too much to pay based on quality, I can’t complain too much about value for money. I left several mouthfuls of my burger and a handful of chips, both because I was stuffed and also because everything felt a touch too unhealthy.

The Venue

My fiancé summed it up perfectly. Twisted Lemon felt like a Student Union. Despite some welcome tunes from Bob Dylan and Mumford & Sons, the atmosphere was just strange. The small number of tables we spied downstairs were all completely barren – condiments, cutlery, sauces were all stacked on the windowsill. Chairs were strewn haphazardly about. The back door was open, letting in the cold February weather. Upstairs, Twisted Lemon might feel more like the part (we didn’t check), but downstairs feels unfinished or an afterthought, as if it’s a late night bar run by kids who decided one day to offer some food and bung a couple of tables in the corner. Having said all that, I really can’t fault the service – the guys that waited on us were very friendly and good-humoured and checked everything was fine with our food very quickly.

Summary

Firstly, we were eager to wolf down our food and get out ASAP because we were the only people in the restaurant. We felt like we were ruining the fun of the cluster of staff that had congregated around the bar. But then, bizarrely, as we were mopping up the last of our meals, the place exploded. A group of five guys sat at the table beside us, a group of four girls next to us, and immediately the space became cramped and claustrophobic. A gaggle of people then came in and descended on the bar for the cheap cocktails, and the staff, who were on Easy Street just moments before, were suddenly swamped. From tumbleweed, to being at the centre of a press of people, we’d had enough. So keen were we to escape, we paid at the bar and got out.

Not a bad meal by any stretch, but just a bizarre and amateurish vibe all round; we won’t be returning to Twisted Lemon for a meal. Full marks to the friendly staff, but there was something very discomforting about the whole experience. And… no bacon!

Price: £10.95 (included chips and side salad)

Rating: 3 out of 5

Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheese Burger, The Globe

The inaugural burger for the Brighton Burgers blog couldn’t have gone less smoothly. I had intended (along with my intrepid burger-ing companion, my fiancé) to make JB’s American Diner my first review. But it seems that a lot of other people hanker for a burger on a late Saturday afternoon too. Having been before, I knew it got busy, but this time it was heaving. They’d even removed the pool table since my last visit in order to cram in more tables. The waitress took my name and number, quoted a 30 minute wait, and ushered us out the door with a smile.

We decided to pass the time by drinking cocktails around the corner at Doctor Brighton’s. We managed two each, in just over an hour, before realising we weren’t getting a call. Chalking up a black mark for JB’s future entry on this blog, we instead headed for The Globe, a pub situated on Middle Street.

And there it was, standing out like sore thumb on the menu – the heavily American-influenced Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheese Burger. How could one not plump for that concoction – something you’d more likely find on Man Vs. Food than on the menu of a British public house. It came with chips included in the price, but we upgraded them to the Cheese Fries for an extra quid.

The Burger

The Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheese Burger is pretty aptly-named, as it turns out. A single patty, melted American cheese and crispy strips of bacon are lovingly sandwiched between two halves of a glistening Krispy Kreme doughnut. Initial impressions are underwhelming – the burger is almost comically small. Perhaps just a touch bigger than a slider. The patty is thin but dense, the bacon crispy indeed. But the overall dominant taste is that mouthful of sugar that bookends the ingredients – the other components of this ludicrous burger just don’t stand a chance, and the overriding feeling is one of eating a dense doughnut and not a burger.

The Fries

Luckily, The Globe make up for the size of the burger with a mountainous pile of fries, served in a plastic basket alongside the main event. Drenched in cheese sauce, mustard and mayo, these were heavy on the condiments but high in satisfaction, and formed the bulk of the meal. So great were the quantity, that they were impossible to finish. They could have done with more of the cheese sauce and less of the other condiments, but this is a minor nitpick; unlike the burger, I’d happily order these again.

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The Venue

Dimly lit but unique, The Globe is a decent boozer to while away an hour (or five, in this case) on the seafront on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The incessant chug of the paddles on the wall of the upper bar is the main talking point, but they also have a large basement bar with retro consoles set up for those impromptu sessions of Mario Kart. They also have a Basement Cinema night every week – free film, free popcorn and a ‘text your order’ service. The service was also very amiable during our visit, but no salt and pepper on the table is a cardinal sin in my eyes.

Summary

A memorable meal but not a particularly excellent one. The burger was unusual but needed a stronger patty, better bacon and much more girth. The fries were oversaturated with condiments but still enjoyable. The presentation – arranged on a tray lined with red-and-white-striped paper – was a nice touch that evoked memories of hamburger chains from across the Atlantic.

Price: £7.50 (+ £1 cheese fries upgrade)

Rating: 3 out of 5.