The Burger Diaries - Part 4: Jo Burger, Rathmines

I've started a book club. Well, more like I insisted a friend start one and he did. Last night we met up, the literary elite, a hodgepodge of disillusioned men conversing weakly and yawning. Rules were explained, a choice was made.

Afterwards I moseyed down to Jo Burger in Rathmines. Four syllables for you: Oh Ver Ray Ted. Sorry guys, as far as the burger is concerned, welcome to let down central. It was hugely open, seductive and immense. It promised chic and it promised bite. I unpinned the monster and nuzzled into the first lunge. There was an awful lot of bread, good bread, very tasty, but undercooked and seasoned to death. Something like cardamom hovered there, maybe allspice or cinnamon in traces or a pinch of cumin. I couldn't place it, but it was Ottoman no doubt. I chewed and waited, and waited, and waited some more. I had to probe until the swallow for a hint of meat. Despite the relish in abundance, the oozing juices, the pretty complexion and enormous patty, it tasted of very little apart from bread. We tried mouthfuls with and without meat and reached the unsatisfactory conclusion that the beef was competing with its entourage. It clearly wasn't the main player. Amateur. This is cuisine for interior designers. It's got to look good and sound To Die For but in essence it doesn't need any soul as long as it sells. Marketable, that's the word. How a restaurant as soulless as this could fail to improve on a relish as routine as Rick's is dumbfounding. How the people of Dublin could have failed to notice is just narcissistic. As long as it looks street, there's a big old queue, it growls with the right kind of chatter and hums to the rhythm of gay friendly anthems, Dubs will exchange flavour for flava. Fine, eat there, get drunk, touch each other and spill your gossip, but don't tell me they know how to cook. You've no one to fool but your ego (and no one's to challenge but mine).

Attack: Bland, Doughy -> 1.3
Middle: Faint, Competitive, but Full Bodied -> 2.7
Finish: Lingering beefy sensation -> 2.4

DIARIT: 6.4