The legend of the Deep-Fried Burger
A joyful but tortuous past-time my friends and I have is to imagine baroque and barely-believable culinary delights; it routinely leaves us ravenous and chewing at the arms of chairs, cushions or anything else we have to hand.
The other day I was having dinner with a couple of foodie mates. We all had burgers – nice enough by themselves, but soon the conversation turned to how this staple of lazy, languid cheap eating could be made even better. My mate – a chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant in London – simply said;
“Deep fry ‘em”.
Deep-fried burger. Yes please. Of course, when it comes to such culinary methodology, the Scottish have England battered (sorry). The Haven Chip Shop in Stonehaven, Aberdeen famously lays claim to the sickeningly-delicious deep-fried Mars Bar (with Mars disassociating themselves from the product earlier this year – in a reaction akin to Russia dissociating themselves from Communism). Deep-fried Mars Bar is the tip of the iceberg; with Hardeep Singh Kohli of the Telegraph lambasting the deep fried pizza – another Scottish ‘delicacy’ (ironically, Kohli is featured in the travel supplement, which suggests that the depreciating article is still coined to entice lard-lovers to a country which quite honestly offers significantly more than an arsenal of deep-fat fryers). The latest trend? Deep-fried butter-balls.
Our increasingly alcohol-fuelled ramblings narrowed onto the merits of deep-frying food and soon we did have to question that if it appears that everything in Scotland apart from Alex Salmond has been deep-fried, then surely burgers have been as well? A quick scoot online when I got home revealed an indeterminate number of recipes for deep-fried burger, most of them coming from across the pond (this one, attributed to ‘The Burger Doctor’ gives one reason, and one reason only for corrupting juicy burgers; “why not?”).
Anyway, until I see a deep-fried burger with my own eyes, I will consign them to the part of my brain that deals with unicorns, abominable snowmen and considerate cyclists. However, yesterday – rather coincidentally – I came across evidence in The Sun that this day may not be far off. The story – important enough to be run on Page Nineteen (one page off Dear Deidre and things like ‘I had sex with a horse and now my wife is threatening to leave with the kids’) concerned a café in New York City that serves up a deep-fried breakfast sandwich designed to ‘cure hangovers’. I have attached the article below – please immerse yourself in the glorious picture and cross-section.
So there we go. Page Nineteen was shown to my fellow aforementioned deep-fry aficionados and there now exists one more reason to head back to NYC.
Or maybe we don’t need to? The sandwich’s creator, Chris Sell, hails from Rugby – proof that the Britannia still rules the waves when it comes to killer comfort food, and that a business case exists for diverting cash from High Speed Two and into focussed R&D for the perfect deep-fried burger (there seems to be a bit of skill in creating one).
Alternatively maybe I am thinking too much into this? Christ, I need a holiday. Scotland. Haven’t been to Scotland in a while.