Guerilla Burgers (CLOSED)
Time Out says
It takes balls to set up yet another burger joint in an already overcrowded market. What sets Guerilla apart is their cheeky approach to marketing (they were sensation-by-twitterati even before their opening day), and a rather silly, faux-hippy aesthetic – old rock music, pop art, empty platitudes and chummy smiles like a Hard Rock gone soft. ‘Drop burgers not bombs’ and ‘Power to the patty’ reads the wall art. But, as everyone knows, real hippies don’t eat meat.
So how are the burgers? Disappointing. Not bad, just disappointing. We really wanted to like the food, as the place was a hoot, with its groovy colours and heavily bearded waiter who looked like Robert Crumb’s Mr Natural. But a limp patty is a limp patty, and a dull bun can’t be disguised by sprinkling it with linseeds.
The meat was cooked medium and on the dry side, and simply not as flavoursome as competitors such as Byron or Gourmet Burger Kitchen. The accompaniments, served on the side, included a limp gherkin (the horror!) and a sauce that was advertised as a salsa, but had no chilli kick. The cheddar cheese of a cheeseburger had no sharp tang, and merely added fat into the equation.
Crinkle-cut chips were a big thing in the early 1970s, and here they’ve been revived in all their pale, pre-fab glory. The alternative was sweet potato fries, which would have been better if they'd not been served lukewarm.
The choice of puddings is limited. Our waiter recommended the two-hour baked cheesecake, which proved to be a good call: firm and not too sweet, it was more in the Central European-style than the overly confected US style. The drinks list is very limited, though a few bottled beers and wines by the glass are sold.
Despite the shortcomings of the food, we liked Guerilla Burgers for the charming service and for having its tongue firmly in its cheek. It should do very well.