The Butchershop Bar and Grill

Crivens, how do I even begin to describe this beast? Just look at it. Look at that cheese oozing down the side. My arteries are quivering thinking about it.

It was, without doubt, one of the most satisfying burger experiences I’ve ever had. In my hungover state there was nothing on my mind other than getting a large amount of meat in me. Anyone who has ever experienced the same feeling will know the extreme pleasure that comes with stuffing your empty stomach with a juicy slab of beef: imagine that pleasure tenfold.

First of all, the bun: brioche, toasted, light and fluffy: almost croissant-esque in richness. It kind of crumbled in a delicious, buttery way with each bite. It was a joy. The patty was perfection. Honestly, I’m struggling to come up with a portrayal of how good it was. Juicy without being greasy, thick without being monstrous, cooked just on the line between rare and medium. This was a problem for Sinead and her phobia of anything that isn’t well done, but for me a couple of pink spots aren’t a huge deal.

The gruyère making it’s way slowly down the side was unreal. Like, phenomenally good. I felt bad eating it because it looked so good. Underneath the burger was fresh, flavoursome rocket salad and two plump, juicy tomato slices. I think there might have been a slice of gherkin in there too, but so much was I enjoying the experience I can’t remember. Let’s just say there was, it’ll make the memory complete.

The chips were less like chips and more like enormous wedges of potato. They came in this tiny wee bucket as well which was pure cute. I would have bumped one but everyone there was so sound I couldn’t have done that to them. I was happy to destroy the burger, devour every chip and write the rest of the day off to get over this glorious, unmitigated win. Five out of five patties!