MEATliquor, W1 - review

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather a skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out and loudly proclaiming 'Wow! What a ride!'." This quote from Hunter S Thompson, which I endorse, appears on the Meatwagon website.

If Meatwagon, #MEATEASY and the recently opened MEATliquor mean nothing, you are a stranger to a particular realm of the twittersphere, and not the sort of person who regularly checks out Burgerac.com to find the latest descriptions and ratings of burgers with aspiration.

Chef Yiannis Papoutsis met pub owner Scott Collins in a car park in Peckham. The first Meatwagon, a burger van launched in 2009, was vandalised - there is a certain poetic inevitability in that - and the next one was stolen, so #MEATEASY popped up above a pub in New Cross and, according to Collins, "went off like a frog in a sock".

Urban myths about the length of queues, strength of cocktails, number of decibels, sneakiness with which greasy meat juices would run down sleeves and a firm no-booking policy deterred even the Gonzo heart of me.

Now a more permanent operation, MEATliquor, has opened in a car park site behind Debenham's in Oxford Street, once Vecchia Milano and most recently a demure restaurant in the same ownership taking its name and inspiration from the fashionable district of Milan called Brera. A few bemused customers were to be seen last week gazing at graffiti with messages like "I do not live in the world of sobriety", at floorboards splattered with red paint to look like blood and rough tables laid with kitchen roll, Heinz ketchup and Hellman's mayonnaise, listening to swamp rock and wondering where their Bellinis and chichetti had gone.

I had purposefully arrived at the no-bookings MEATliquor at about 2.30pm on Tuesday reckoning that there would be no queue. There was only a sprinkling of occupied tables. The welcome was genial. Please bear in mind that what follows is based on two long, late-starting lunches. Evenings, at least as far as noise and possible confusion are concerned, are undoubtedly different. Service was either all over us like a cheap suit or scarce on the ground - but always affable.

We started with a cocktail devised by Soulshakers, as you do, and must. A New Cross Negroni made with Bombay Sapphire gin and Antica Formula Carpano vermouth served in a jam jar that looked as if it had once done service for Bonne Maman was wonderful. My friend Ed loved his St Thomas, also made with Bombay Sapphire shaken with fresh lime and fresh pink grapefruit, served in a champagne saucer. There are 17 other options as well as the rum-based House Grog "limited to two serves per person".

Burgers are the backbone of a menu that evolves (a bit) all the time. Dead Hippie is apparently a tribute to visits Papoutsis made to Burning Man events in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada. To compare it to a Big Mac would be heresy. Sloppy, greasy, pungent, sharp as sarcasm, sweet as kisses, it left Ed gobsmacked. The chilli cheeseburger was another perfect synthesis.

A few days later, when I was eating Peking duck pancakes at my new excellent Chinese discovery, Bright Courtyard in Baker Street, I thought about how that assembly of soft and crispy duck with a pliant wrap, squeak of spring onion, damp of cucumber and tang of hoisin satisfies the gastronomic soul in much the same way. Let's not get carried away here, you might think, but the chilli cheeseburger is a spirited meal for £7 which needs only a few extras.

You might add, as we did, a buffalo pork slider to start and from the "Rabbit Food" selection a Greek salad made to Yiannis's aunt's recipe. I would say to Auntie, "hold the green peppers", but the combo was otherwise nicely coherent and better than you find in most tavernas in Greece. Deep-fried pickles with blue cheese dip should be tried for the oddness - and pleasure - of finding vinegar inside rather than outside batter.

A chicken burger should be ordered for the sensation of juicy deep-fried breaded chicken in a bun and Philly cheesesteak for the impact of sliced, rather than chopped, vehemently spiced beef in a bun. I don't know if Cheez Whiz was used but that is traditional, as is adopting the "Philadelphia lean" where you bend forward to meet your cheesesteak rather than bringing it to your mouth and dropping stuff in your lap.

A word about the buns. "Buns are the Achilles heel of a burger," said one of my burger philosopher companions. Here they are ideal: unglazed, tasting of bread, tantalisingly fragile but robust enough to hold it all together until
the end.