Bogging into the burgers.
With all the buzz Pop Burger was getting during fashion week?the burger-joint-cum-VIP-lounge was throwing parties with such luminaries as Gisele reportedly dancing on the banquettes?I grew curious about the latest restaurant to enter the trendy game of hamburger one-upsmanship.
When it finally opened to the public, I brought a buddy to knock back some of their affordable bubbly ($8), an Astoria (!) Prosecco from Italy bottled in Queens, in anticipation of the Next Big Burger. Unfortunately, the celebration was a bit premature. Pop Burger's eponymous signature dish?two mini-burgers on a brioche bun with lettuce, tomato and "special sauce" ($5)?was not cult-inspiring, nor was it very good.
Like the establishment itself, the menu's attempts to combine low and high fell flat. In this instance, the chopped iceberg lettuce and mealy low-grade tomatoes degraded the otherwise salvageable ingredients of a decent grilled beef patty, buttery bun and house Russian dressing with chopped cornichons. A friend insisted that she prefers the burgers at White Castle. The french fries ($2.75) were equally questionable. The menu called them "house cut," but the crunchy-on-the-outside, too-fluffy-on-the-inside texture recalled something processed.
Several items on the "lounge" menu, a luxuriously priced selection of snacks and entrees served only in the bar, showed similar signs of malaise. The lobster club sandwich ($15) was akin to something I might order from the corner store at three in the morning. The bacon and the sliced white bread were of deli quality, and the lobster salad itself, though inoffensive, was bland enough to be interchangeable with any other mayonnaise mix. My dinner companion and I thought the same of the lobster nachos ($12), which we suspected was the lobster salad served on tortillas with guacamole. If we closed our eyes and chewed, we agreed, we wouldn't even know that we were eating lobster.
We did try a grown-up dish, if only to be fair. The tempura tuna ($20), a rare log of wine-colored tuna wrapped in nori and swiftly fried just long enough to cook the edges of the fish, showed more skill than the simpler fare. Overall, it was disappointing that the raw tuna was the best dish at a place called Pop Burger.
Bog in, Mate!
In line with the culture of the grill, the detectable frat-boy esthetic that extended from the plates to the presentation was at once charming and bizarre. For instance, all of the food, with the exception of an oyster shooter appetizer (more on that soon), was served on paper plates. Though odd for a moderate-range restaurant, we (four women) wrote it off with the same forgiveness reserved for the bachelor who pours his wine in jam jars.
The collegiate sensibility reappeared with the slick drinks that can get you very drunk, very fast, with Rohypnol stealth. The sneaky Sheila ($6), the house flavored sake served chilled in a very tall glass, went down (too) smoothly and was a standout in the fresh pineapple-y "tropical" flavor. The oyster shooter appetizer ($12), four shot glasses cradled on ice with sake, oysters, chopped green peppers, cilantro and a kick of hot pepper, were fun to knock back, but felt like just another creative way to get hammered.
Servings also embodied a certain drunken abandon. Generous portions indiscriminately heaped created a carefree leitmotiv most memorably seen in the evening's dessert, a dreamy pavlova of soft meringue, poofy whipped cream and chopped tropical fruits strewn like confetti with a drizzle of mango sauce ($5).
What impressed most on this very sincere and accessible menu was the meat. The perceived high place of flesh in the Aussie culinary hierarchy is a reality that the Sunburnt Cow asserts with skill. The flatiron beef steak ($16), recently highlighted in several publications as "a steak to watch," was a primal hunk of sufficiently rare, lean meat that carried the robust flavor of the grill. The table was split on the worth of its accompaniment, a slightly sloppy goat cheese, tomato and crouton savory bread pudding. The left side of the table found it a bit coarse and an overly homey mate for a primal piece of meat, while the right side of the table affirmed its appeal by enthusiastically digging in.
What impressed me more was a charred spring "chook" with a zesty side of white beans in a creme fraiche broth ($14), which could easily have served two people. I usually avoid chicken at restaurants simply because the preparation tends to be unsophisticated, and often the meat is dry. This, however, was among the moistest chicken I've had in recent dining- out memory. The white beans were tasty, though my companions and I searched and searched but could not detect that creme fraiche broth. In general, these beans didn't appear to be a natural counterpoint to the chicken, which could have done well with a side that provided a bit more texture contrast or left more of a flavor impression.
A classic combination was the wild card on the menu: the 'roo bangers and smash ($12). Though the simplest, this dish was the most perfected and balanced of the entrees. The kangaroo sausages were peppery and dense, served over tart caramelized onions and mashed potatoes that bordered on addictive. The side of house-baked kidney beans with bits of cooked pork ($5), from the standpoint of tradition and taste, was a winner. Distinct, meaty and just right, I would come back for these alone.
The pepperberry rubbed shrimp with corn salsa ($10) were served up plump and juicy, though a bit over-seasoned, with an irresistibly oniony mix of grilled corn kernels, another truly spectacular side.
Though the experience was an idiosyncratic one, a look around the crowded space revealed a relaxed atmosphere where playful dishes and tricky drinks rubbed off on willing patrons, all happy to catch the last gasp of outdoor dining this season.