Dearest Grillshack. Beloved Grillshack. Holy Grillshack.
After weeks of anticipation, I finally paid my first visited. Excitement was high, tummies were empty, and hearts raced with the prospect of what awaited our palates.
My friend was joining me as I was treating her to a birthday lunch. I told her to meet me at 12 o'clock sharp to beat the rush, but typically, as I hovered outside, gazing in at hungry lunch-breakers already taking their seats - she was late. By 12:05 I was positively enraged and could feel my inner Jack Bauer begin to fizz. I wanted to grab the next passerby by the scruff and scream "DAMMIT CHLOE! WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!"
(NB. My friend's name is actually Emma.)
Praise be! She eventually arrived and we were shown to our table by a lovely waiter, and let me tell you, this was a sign of things to come. From the moment we entered, everything was fan-bloody-tastic. Being the giant nerds that we are, we were slightly concerned that Grillshack would be pretentiously trendy - but noooooo! The staff were so friendly and helpful, but not that in annoying, over-compensating way that makes you want to facepalm yourself repeatedly.
We also thought the ambience was perfecto. I think this is partly due to the AWESOME SOUNDTRACK. Honestly, I rarely notice what music is playing when I'm stuffing my face, but clearly, DJ Grilla Shizza has amazing taste: Tegan and Sara and Thurston Harris' "Little Bitty Pretty One" on the same playlist? Not to mention Emma's favourite song "Move on Up" (Curtis Mayfield)! We were actually bobbing whilst burgering.
And that brings me to the grub. I was dubious that the extremely reasonable prices would equate to less-than-reasonable food. Chandler Bing couldn't BE more wrong. The burger was juicy, beefy and cooked to perfection with a satisfying smattering of mayo and toppings - all nestled betwixt that heavenly brioche bun. So sweet, so soft, so smooth, like a well-moisturised bald head. I noticed some reviewers saying the burger is small; I admit, the patty is thinner than the likes of Byron, Meat Liquor etc., but for the price and overall taste, it really is spot on. The fries (both shoestring and French) were crunchy sticks of potato precision: not a soggy chip in sight and excellently seasoned (maybe the French Fries just pip the others to the post - lush.) And the corn. Jesus wept. Juicy and buttery with a chipotle tang and cheesy surprise. Amen to that. And finally, the pièce de résistance: the ice cream cookie sandwiches. The sugary behemoth that had us giggling with glee. I had the oatmeal raisin special, and whilst I thoroughly enjoyed tasting Emma's choc-vanilla combination, mine was like a Christmas party in my mouth - such chewy cinnamony goodness. The only thing that could improve the menu would be the addition of a veggie burger - there's a lovely looking halloumi salad, but I reckon a veggie burger would seal the deal with our nation's animal lovers.
Finally, and somewhat bizarrely, I was also very taken with the toilets. They are extremely cosy and the sinks are ace. An inspired choice! I mentioned this to the manager (?) near the door - he politely indulged me but I'm sure he thought I was some sort of toilet-fetish lunatic.
And so it was, our first trip to Grillshack came to end. And what a time we'd had. From that euphoric peak, my day quickly troughed as I roamed Oxford Street looking for the (definitely non-existent) Holy Grail that is a comfortable strapless bra. In an ocean full of overpriced, overhyped and overhipstered diners and burger joints, this place is a shining beacon, bobbing upon the How-It-Should-Be-Done Sea. Grillshack, I salute you. read more