Burger Report (after Meltzer): The Cheeseburger Vol. I

BY HENRY OLIVER

N.B. The Burger Report uses the burger rating system of music critic Richard Meltzer. In addition to his prolific musings on rock music, aesthetics, golf and Los Angeles ugliest buildings, Meltzer reviews burgers using a self-devised rating system. The over-all quality of the burger is shown by the amount of letters it achieves from B to B U R G E R. B being a terrible burger, B U R G E R being an amazing burger, and B U R somewhere in between. Got it? Great. Moving on...


McDonald’s (260 Queen St, Auckland City. $2.00)

Pure nostalgia! The McDonald’s Cheeseburger must be a founding nutritional document of any child not raised by hippies. I certainly remember many a friend’s 7th birthday party and a sympathetic McDonald’s treat after I ran right into a wasp’s nest when I was a youngster. But since taking up meat again after an eight-year absence I haven’t been too impressed with McDonalds. Despite changing to a make-it-as-you-order system (not to mention the options of bacon and avocado) their burgers remained soggy and flat. The fries tended to overshadow the burger most visits.
Why I think the Cheeseburger excels where other McDonald’s burgers often fall flat is simple ambition. The Cheeseburger knows what it is, knows what it is capable of, and does it well. Nothing more.
The bun was light, sweet and fluffy. The ketchup and mustard well proportioned, the pickle an acidic surprise and that finely cut onion topped the whole thing off.
While almost too sweet to be considered a savory food; this Cheeseburger was everything I remembered it to be. Nothing more, but thankfully nothing less.

B U R


Wendy’s Old-Fashioned Hamburgers (290 Queen St, Auckland City. $2.20)

The Wendy’s Cheeseburger was definitely not the freshest, but certainly the hottest. It made it’s way from the ‘kitchen’, to the tray, to my table, and to my mouth so quickly that it verged on burning my tongue.
The bun was sweet, but not too sweet. A little doughy though.
The beef patty tasted beefy enough to avoid complete flavorlessness, without the chemical sting of that ‘flame-grilled’ approach.
What I love most about Wendy’s Burgers is the mustard: tangy and pungent without over-powering the other flavors.
And the onion! I love Wendy’s onions. Thin, crisp, and crunchy. And in rings! Basically I would order this burger again for the onions and mustard alone.
What gets me though is all this trademarked square-patty business. Sure, in theory it works great; the corners spill over the side and you get both a better looking burger and more beef. More beef! And who doesn’t want that? But what you end up getting is a scrawny patty that doesn’t quite cover the bun and the inevitably disappointing last bit of dry, sugared bread. A bad finish to a merely decent burger.

B U



Burger Wisconsin (453 Mt. Eden Rd, Mt. Eden. $8.40)

This burger was definitively the best of the lot:
The beef (AngusPure no less) was well seasoned and perfectly proportioned.
The cheese was generous enough to retain a strong cheddar flavor without being too thick as to not melt sufficiently.
The bun a light sourdough that was light enough to avoid doughy-ness while still remaining a stable platform for the sauces and beef.
The lettuce was fresh, crisp and ample.
The burger struck a great balance between the components and was generous in its flavors and proportions without falling apart on itself in an excess of sauces and toppings.
A complete meal in itself.
So good, I have nothing more to say about it.

B U R G E



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The Benefits of Looking Up (The Secret Observation Deck on Wakefield St)

BY SALLY CONOR

Cities are prismatic. They change with the light and reflect new qualities from every angle. Auckland is a city of hidden surfaces - at times it can seem dull and grainy, with its character leached and corroded by commerce, sprawl and the blight of apartment buildings like limescale on the surface of some bright blade. But at other times, and with the right guide, it is radiant and crystalline. Those of us who love Auckland know its freckles and foibles: we know its crannies and sparkling moments; we seek out the sides of the prism that reflect the best light. And we know that there will always be new discoveries to make us fall in love with it all over again.

I have a friend whose great talent is for seeking out these ways to see the ordinary through entirely new eyes – when you spend time with her, you find life takes on new urgency and lustre, possibilities open up before you where you thought there were only blank walls. One day recently, she took me on a serpentine walk through town, promising to reveal a great new secret of Auckland. Like Alice’s white rabbit, she led me through a doorway and a tunnel of sorts (in this case, an upward journey through a lift-shaft to the seventeenth floor) and out onto a deserted rooftop Wonderland of mouldering turf, weird box gardens of aloes, and an unexpectedly bright panorama of our city. She had brought me to an observation deck, poorly disguised a pseudo-garden of the lowest possible maintenance, with seating and places to walk, sheltered areas for viewing and… that is all. No one else was there, and it felt dreamlike, nonsensical… a place straight out of Lewis Carroll in fact, verging on pointlessness in its under-use, if it weren’t for the quite extraordinary perspective of Auckland that it offered.

From the skytower, Auckland becomes a flat mosaic crawling with puny movement. From this angle, Auckland retains its dimensions but presents a weathered, weary face of lumpen rooftops, back alleys, silence and assorted architectural triumph and shame. The encroachment of the new is all too depressingly obvious from the seventeenth floor, with cranes infesting the skyline like wiry harbingers of the beige mediocrity soon to follow. Gems like St Matthew’s cathedral and the Smith & Caughey building defiantly jostle for light among the encroaching apartments and badly thought-out office spaces (does anyone else think that new skyscraper going up on lower Queen St looks exactly like a cheese grater?) and their beauty is all the more poignant for it. Anyone who loves Auckland can surely feel their heart breaking for our city’s slow, aesthetic death.

Anyway, the point is that despite the dawning horror of being able to see clearly what is happening to the architectural character of central Auckland, viewing the whole patchwork from up here is exhilarating and newly inspiring. The glow of light and life from the ocean and Gulf islands shines greenly over the entire panorama. Advertising is remarkably absent this high up – no billboards are visible, no tagging or postering has ascended, even music and the constant burble of imperatives to buy buy buy are lost in the altitude. The only iconography that survives the climb are the neon beacons atop our tallest towers: ANZ, ASB, VERO… and the City Mission cross (God is fighting a daily battle for skyline dominance with the fallen angels of finance). Also pleasing is the surprising amount of green clustered between the building blocks of civilisation… Albert Park and the Domain provide the velvety, shadowed places that are such cool refuges from the reflected glare of thousands of CBD windows. This green frequently inhabits the non-spaces – the redundant bits of air between buildings that contain defiant patches of weeds, hardy trees reaching for life, or the small victory of grass in the cracks of our paved-over land.

Perhaps what one sees most clearly from up here is the unused concrete expanse of all the nearby rooftops – one can’t help but wonder, what if all those roofs contained gardens like this one, but with real grass and leafy trees, flowers and ferns, moist earth and teeming life? What if Auckland had a whole secret world seventeen floors up? What if we blanketed our coarse but necessary commercial lives with a tapestry of nature between us and our atmosphere, or perhaps more crucially, protected our atmosphere from us? What would it do for our carbon emissions? For our quality of life? It’s just a nice thought.

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The other extraordinary thing about my friend who brought me to this place is that her fiancé is a ninja. I’m not even kidding. He has a black belt in ninjitsu. Not only is this fun fact testament to her unique quality, it also informed the way she presented this garden to me. She passed on a story he told her about how people hardly ever bother to look upwards in their everyday lives. Apparently ninjas are taught to be ultra-aware in three dimensions, and to frequently use the spaces above them to hide from their enemies who are unlikely to look beyond what is right in front of them. Those of us without ninja powers are so often guilty of viewing our world with a lazily shallow gaze, and it is so simple to just glance upwards every now and again, to see things differently, discover our habitat anew and appreciate the entirety of what surrounds us. I like to think of my visit to this rooftop garden as an extreme expression of that idea: I looked up, all the way up to the seventeenth floor, and what I found there was an entirely new way of seeing my world, of seeing Auckland.




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The Search For Fabric of Newmarket. Or Any Jeans.

BY TAHI MOORE

Sure, it's been a long time since the cut of jeans have decided to become bored. Jeans themselves might begin to cease to be clothes at all. Everyone will carry on wearing them, but there is something inherently evil in the whole situation. It's not even primarily to do with the way they get made. It's got a lot more to with pockets.

I've been asking people what the best jeans are. And the consensus is Levi's. But try to find a plain pair. I saw someone wearing some the other day. I really don't know where he got them from.

I went on a journey, searching for the fabled Fabric branch in Newmarket. It's like searching for a good pair of Levis, except I still believe the Levis are out there. Every shop had a wall mounted shelving unit full of jeans with the back pockets facing up and they all had back pocket art work. Along with the intricate detailing, patinas, shine, studs, coloured thread, selvidge, the pockets make jeans the most elaborate item of clothing you can own. Sure you can get a ten dollar t shirt with a white silkscreen floral pattern and a roughly sewn on logo, but it's just as easy to get Bonds and American Apparel.

In the whole of Newmarket the only pair of jeans that might pass for actual jeans were the last Chloés in the women's section of Workshop. There might have been more, but I doubt it.

So what do you do? Trousers? I think so.

Anyway, since it was raining, and since I had on a Swandry, I went into said shop and the Classic reissues are on sale until they run out. They're cut a bit large, but the one that fit snug just looked like a shirt.

And tip? Tried on some super-crafted jeans and the pockets were really BIG, and I don't have an arse. I actually need braces. But it looked like I was really fat, which just adds to the evil jeans pockets theory.




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High Noon

BY AMBER EASBY

I may enjoy a late breakfast or early lunch during the week, but ‘brunch’ is reserved for the weekend. Last Sunday, I read a review of the Richmond Rd Café. While the term ‘hot spot’ left a bad taste in my mouth, I knew exactly what I wanted to eat when I woke up this morning: Lemon Ricotta Pancakes served with blueberry compote, lavender syrup and mascarpone.

We arrived at the café just before noon. A waitress greeted us outside and said there was a ten-minute wait. Another couple arrived. They smelled like weed and subsequently, were distressed by the delay. I consoled them with the estimated table time. I offered the same information to a middle age woman, as she arrived with her young daughter. “There is always a wait.” The woman pushed through to the inside waiting area – apparently, reserved for the regular.

Had this been a weekday, I might have considered a boozy breakfast of Spiced Banana and Rum Porridge with cream and coconut ($10.50). Henry was similarly tempted by the Asparagus Omelette ($14.50). I stayed true to my original craving and ordered the pancakes ($13.50). I declined the option of bacon, reluctant to spend the extra $4 and knowing I could steal from Henry, who splurged on the Mixed Grill ($19.50).

The Richmond Rd Café looks expensive - a lot of leather and glass. Badly laser-copied menus are the only chink in its armour. The overused café colour scheme of coffee and cream is also favoured here. The vibe was a little adult- contemporary for my liking but the crowd seemed to dig it. The ratepayers of Grey Lynn looked comfortable here. Our stoners, now seated and waiting for their order, happily passed the time playing with their Blackberry Smartphones.

We were ecstatic when our meals arrived. Henry’s Mixed Grill was a great twist on a traditional fry-up – poached eggs, bacon, kumara rosti, portabella mushrooms, black pudding, slow roasted vine tomatoes and five-grain toast. The bacon was cooked to crispy perfection. I regretted not ordering my own. Traumatised by my very English grandparents’ love of offal, I was hesitant to try the black pudding. I was surprised by its spice and overall deliciousness. Henry cleaned the plate.

My pancakes arrived steaming, the mascarpone just starting to melt. Initially, I thought there was too much compote but every mouthful was put to good use. The lemon cut though the ricotta nicely and the consistency reminded me of American-style flapjacks. My only criticism is that I could not taste the lavender. I appreciate there is a fine line before lavender turns to potpourri in your mouth but unfortunately, the syrup could not be distinguished once it had melted into the blueberries. That said, I would order these pancakes for brunch tomorrow.




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