Ed eats

Badass Burgers
46, Old Theatre Street,
Valletta

Food: 7/10
Service: 6/10
Ambience: 9/10
Value: 6/10
Overall: 7/10

Once in a while I revisit a restaurant I’ve reviewed in the past and, when I feel it is warranted, I review it again. This is uncommon, mainly because there are so many places left for me to visit and assess that returning to the same place time and again is logistically difficult.

When Michelin inspectors carry out their analysis, they visit a number of times. The poor guys eat out around 300 times a year. It is what they do. Having nothing else to do but eat out and write about it, I’d probably do the same. Alas, real life dictates otherwise, so the most I can afford is a snapshot – a one-time-only visit – that should be representative of the experience any random diner can expect. The clue is in the word ‘random’.

There are a few places I revisit often. These are the ones that strike a chord. These are the ones I know to have been consistently satisfying in every respect. I seek a gastronomic and emotional rapport with a restaurant I return to time and again. The exceptions to this rule are those places that are so remarkable, in quality or kitchen style, that I’m prepared to put up with a sterile experience in pursuit of olfactory indulgence.

Then there are brand extensions. Those places that achieve a degree of success that warrants expansion tend to open up at different locations to serve diners outside the initial catchment area. These need a formula. They need a watertight experience that can be safely replicated, offering a consistent delivery of service across multiple iterations of the formula.

This is a tough one. Even the odd charm of the foul-mouthed Ramsay couldn’t save him from losing two stars at his flagship restaurant last year, an embarrassment attributed to lack of consistency. Serving a level of quality depends on strict control and, in the absence of the person who keeps a watchful pair of eyes and ears on service delivery, a restaurant can slip into a mere shadow of what the original set out to be.

The success of global franchises depends on the way in which every restaurant works like a Swiss watch, replicating the success of every meal served a million times a day across countries and continents. As much maligned as these franchises are, a million meals mean a million pockets that have been voluntarily dug into to keep the name going. And this spells financial success that goes beyond a tasty burger. It is testament to impeccable process rather than gastronomic delight.

Returning from this extreme to a more contained effort, I first encountered Badass Burgers in Spinola Bay. I had tried the place a couple of times and wasn’t sufficiently impressed to return. The patty was too lean and the service too erratic for me to bother. A burger is a vastly underrated meal and, when prepared properly, can bring much joy to one’s mouth.

Large and colourful depictions of highly stylised burgers whispered my name

Since then, another couple of Badass branded restaurants have popped up and, having been relatively unimpressed the first time, I’ve been reluctant to give either of them a shot. Fast forward to last weekend when circumstances had chucked me into Valletta at 4pm, with just a late breakfast to keep me from collapsing. As I climbed Old Theatre Street towards Republic Street, wondering what kind soul would feed me so late, Badass beckoned. Tables outside were still occupied by people who looked like they were happily enjoying a meal.

Large and colourful depictions of highly stylised burgers whispered my name. A table just off the square was conveniently vacant. I sat myself down with the determined finality of a tombstone falling into place and there was little that would move me unless a burger had found its way into my stomach.

A young man darted by and said he’d be with us soon. Then a young lady did the same. Then another young lady looked at us like the cat had just dragged us in and dashed into the restaurant that is, confusingly, called a cafe.

The first young man returned with menus and gave us a while to decide. I had a quick look through and the list is pretty tempting, crossing the border from dauntingly huge to daintily chicken-stuffed. There is also a list of little burgers called ‘quickies’ but I wasn’t sure I felt like a quickie with so many people watching. One of the real, non-quickie burgers was called Obama and, promising bacon and cheese and lettuce and tomato, sounded like the real deal.

The carnivore I was with quite bizarrely picked a chicken burger. Eventually, the young man who had delivered the menus popped back to take our orders. He was pleasant, cheerful, and quite helpful. I asked how long they normally take to serve burgers and he said that we should expect a wait time of 20 minutes to half an hour. Every burger, he said with a touch of pride, is prepared for every patron to order and this takes a while. He won me over with his honesty, his knowledge of the process, and the way he spoke to us.

While we waited I observed the way the place seemed to be working. The two people who were doing all the work were keeping up with quite a workload. They dashed in and out of the cafe, serving food and drinks, taking orders, and being pretty decent to everyone in the process. The third girl who acted like she was running the show simply ordered them around, stopping only to have a chat with a friend of hers who sat a table outside. Leading the front of house is best done by example and I wasn’t sure this was the example her two capable team members needed.

True to his word, our man turned up with burgers just 20 minutes after we’d placed our order. The burger is big and is served with a generous portion of skinny and unseasoned fries. Seasoning is up to you, with proper salt and pepper grinders available as well as all the gooey sauces you could possibly want to pour all over your chips.

I bit into the burger and, as is the case with a single, large patty, components started to slide around a little. This isn’t the most manageable of burgers, but then a burger isn’t about keeping things clean. The mess and slipping and sliding and dripping of sauce on to the fries is all part of the fun. The patty isn’t as lean and dry as it was previously. It has been over-minced for my liking – I’m all for single-mince patties, shaped perpendicular to the direction of the mince – but this is infinitely more practical when serving the masses. It is very pleasantly seasoned and the sauce, seasoning, salad and bun work surprisingly well together. I think I’d rechristen this, calling it ‘The Frank Underwood’. He might be a fictional inhabitant of the White House but he is mean, likeable, messy, and not unpleasantly lean.

I took a bite of the chicken burger and it was fine by chicken burger standards. Ordering a chicken burger at place called ‘Badass’ is a little like turning up for a Nascar race in a Prius.

It is entirely your fault if the bigger, louder, more purpose-built machines stomp all over you.

So I’m happy to report that Badass is living up to its name. The burger is not for the faint of heart nor for the calorie counters. It is there for you when you’re ready to roll up your sleeves, pull your plate of fries under your chin, and take big bites out of it, allowing the sauces and juices to drip all over your fries. Add a pint of beer. And expect to pay more than you would at any franchise burger place.

You’re sitting in a World Heritage site after all, with the President’s palace in full view, and are encouraged to dribble sauce all over your chin. And that should be worth paying a premium for.

You can send e-mails about this column to ed.eatson@gmail.com or follow @edeats on Twitter.

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