Monday, June 18, 2012

The curious case of the Admiral Codrington


So yes, it appears I have become a burger hypocrite (a cunt). Ever since I mentioned that I was slowly  becoming bored of the whole London burger trend, what do I go and do? Please, enlighten me as to your chosen course of action following your not at all self aggrandising avowal of anything approaching a trend that people might have become aware of. Fashion forward, who me? Stuff my face with burgers. QFS (quelle fucking suprise) Actually, a lot of burgers. Burgers from Lucky Chip, (blogger no.237 to visit) burgers from MEATmarket, (blogger no. 517 to visit) and most recently, the almost perfect slider from the MEATLiquor stall at the annual and very excellent Soho Food Feast. 


The natural progression of this conversation takes me towards my topic of this post,once again, 'the natural progression of this conversation' it's a piece of writing, if you're transcribing from something you said then it was a monologue, it's not a conversation, the voices you may be hearing are not actually for real. You may think that people are listening and care, but really they're not. Mostly I'd imagine they're contemplating how they need to wash their socks or wondering whether they remembered to delete the porn from their internet history before leaving the house to meet you. Btw, it might be best to go wash if you shook hands.. the uncrowned but highly acclaimed king of London burgers, Fred Smith at the Admiral Codrington. Sorry I lost track a bit, you're back to talking about burgers now, goodie. Having met him by chance a few weeks earlier (at yet another burger related event (see, I'm a MASSIVE burger hypocrite), I promised that I would make the trip into the deepest darkest South West London and sample one of his fabled burgers. Interestingly enough, the etymology of fabled dates to the 16th century, where it meant, unreal or invented. Obviously these are burgers of legend that only those who truly walk the enlightened path of the meat patty can love. 

The Ad Cod Please, please tell me you say this out loud in public, it's like an aural warning klaxon for cocks (less of a mouthful than the Admiral Codrington) is located just off the end of a rather exclusive Kensington street. Do you mean expensive? As I walked from the station, I was surrounded by supercars, suits and slinky women. You make it sound like a Duran Duran video, where there yachts and floppy haircuts? The actual pub held the same atmosphere, unsurprising as the people on the street need to eat and drink, the insight here is utterly staggering, people, right, well they need to eat and drink, suddenly so much makes sense to me with plenty of outdoor space for the warm Summer nights. I'm not going to deny it, the dining area was pretty cool as it had a reclining roof reclining roofs are well cool letting the lucky few on one side of the room to bask in the evening sun. Sadly our group of six were squeezed into a tight banquette this is an euphemism, right? in the sweltering corner of the room. Tell me more, I love imagining you sweltering whilst squeezed in with your companions, did you have to divest yourself of any clothing, did you consider singing some Nelly, please say you did, after all it was getting hot in there..



After all this preamble, pfft, preamble, it's like foreplay, it's most of the fun I really just wanted to get on with it and get stuck into the food. ok so when I said foreplay I didn't mean literally, tell me you didn't take photos.. A rather generous plate of burrata now I've heard about this burrata stuff and I reckon it'll totally be, like, the new black A line skirt or something and tomatoes with basil (backing up a little, you had a salad tricolore, but with a slightly more fashionable cheese) was pleasant and fresh but was a mere distraction for my stomach prior to the main event(Ad Cod, cherries, main events, I'm getting rather excited here, it's like you're building up to something). I had anticipated and dreamt really, you'd dreamt about it, was it wet? what this burger was going to taste like, but sadly the burger I had was a little off the mark. The cheese had not melted properly and had curled up, that's the power of cliche, it can curl even the most melty of cheeses probably from being sat around or being left under a heatlamp thank you for speculating as to the causes of the curl, I prefer to blame excessive chiche useage.  The patty SMITH sorry, it's an involuntary response was decent enough although lacked depth of flavour and was underseasoned and undersauced (although nicely cooked for me). I didn't even realised there was bacon in the burger until it was finished. I sympathise, sometimes I don't realise that there's bacon in my bed for several days, it's usually the cat that alerts me to it. I liked the brioche bun a lot, but met criticism from a few of my dining partners as it was too sweet. Did you suggest that they should be happier with bread? Fucking proletariat, not happy with brioche, shocking.



Sadly Fred was not in the house when we visited, did you book, you mentioned you'd met him previously, is it possible he switched his rota around? which may have explained some of the shortfalls we experienced. Finishing off with some ice cream, we slowly digested the mound of meat in our stomachs such beautiful imagery and chatted about our meal. The burgers were definitely not bad, just pleasant unlike this prose, whilst the chips were actually rather good. The thing is, the whole experience was just sadly lacking (probably not helped by the heat of our alcove by the time we were done). or maybe, just maybe, the preposterously raised expectations? Were you hoping to meet the burger god, to fall down on your knees and take all 7 inches of burger godliness into your mouth whilst gargling praise and tickling his head with your tonsils?

I know I have talked about the big old "hypemonster" oh that big old hypemonster, he's such an affable sort of chap on a few occasions, and in this case, felt like I had been chewed up and spat out. I'm pretty certain that the hypemonster I know usually swallows. £15 sits firmly in the gourmet burger territory, and other examples at Goodman name drop no.1 and Hawksmoor name drop no 2 were for me more enjoyable neither of them were in Kensington, this pretty much automatically makes them more enjoyable. However, I was reassured that the burgers are indeed normally legendary 'are indeed normally legendary' no comment (by a member of my group who had been before) and am surprisingly finding myself inclined to make the journey to South West London again to see if she was right.  There is always the debate that the food should always be consistent with or without the main man at the helm,I rather like the idea of helmsmen but next time I'm not taking any chances. If the burger genius isn't in, nor am I. But if he is, I'm going to nail that cliche fully balls deep.


1 comment:

  1. I like you and your stuff. I always wondered with my blog which colour to use as an alternative to the default and I think red is the wisest choice of all.

    You make me rich - like the richest man in the world when it comes to knowledge of sentences I never before would have thought to use.

    Bell on!

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