If you’re craving beef, Hambrgr knows how it’s done
I live in the neighbourhood, so walk-by scoutings established Hambrgr is often packed. I figured the Tuesday night before Christmas would be a bit quieter, but no such luck.
When my companion and I dropped in around 8 p.m., all the tables were taken. The restaurant is small, so it doesn’t take much to fill up even though seating is efficient. There are two long wooden tables at the front of the room and five smaller tables to the side. We ended up on one of a handful of backless stools at the bar, our coats on our laps and the floor.
It took about 10 minutes for the single server to get to us. This gave us plenty of time to check out the interior — exposed brick, industrial lamps, chalkboard walls, metal stools at most tables — and the drinks menu, which includes a mess of cocktails, bourbons, Caesars and craft beers by the pint or bottle.
I went for the brgr and bourbon Caesar, which came with the Cadillac of garnishes — a long stalk of celery, a wheel of lime and a slider. It’s a gimmick and a good one. The miniature burger delivered more than just flair, with an excellent meat-tobun ratio and a juicy little patty dressed with ketchup, mustard, a pickle and cheese.
The drink itself had only a light dusting of salt and pepper on the rim and was very mild on spice.
One thing that wasn’t mild, in any sense, was the jalapeno popper appetizer. To be fair, we were warned by our server. But I pride myself on being a bit of a connoisseur of the deep-fried pepper and these were unlike any popper of my past.
Four fat poppers arrived on a long skinny plate. Their deep -fried exteriors were fluffy and tempuraesque rather than breaded in the more common panko-style crust.
Each pepper was stuffed with a mix of cream cheese and chorizo. Two of the four were manageably spicy and we were able to maintain conversation while eating.
The other two packed such overwhelming burn that it was all we
could comment on. I could have downed a glass of the accompanying lime/cilantro crème fraîche and it wouldn’t have cooled my lips in the slightest. If you’re not a spice lover, err on the side of caution and assume the latter two are indicative of the standard.
We split a small kale salad that appeared to be made from lettuce rather than kale. The roasted quinoa and almond slices added a nice, satisfying crunch but I couldn’t taste the light vinaigrette after the poppers.
Half-and-half fries were an even mix of standard and sweet potato fries. The latter were very crispy, with no thick coating of batter that is common on a well-done sweet potato fry. They were sprinkled with coarse ground salt and served with a Cajun-spiced mayo that added smoky flavour.
My companion’s black and blue burger might have been the juiciest burger I’ve ever seen. It dripped temptingly when squeezed and the
blue cheese topping balanced the charcoal-grill flavour of the blackened burger.
My chickpea and lentil burger was impressive in that it stayed together. Normally, bean-based veggie burgers will do one of two things: 1. collapse under the pressure of the first bite, either crumbling to pieces, or squirting out like hummus; or 2. retain structure only because they’re fried to within an inch of their lives.
This did neither. It was solid enough to hold its shape, soft and lightly grilled around the edges. A topping of shredded kale and Granny Smith apple mixed up the texture and gave a sweet, sharp contrast to the savoury basil aioli spread on the chia and oat bun.
You take your chances on seating at the downtown restaurant, but if you’re craving a burger, they know how it’s done.