Musings —02.10.2012 09:30 AM—
Zagat’s recent paean to the Burger Priest, where my kids and I generally go at least once a week, has prompted me to reflect on the gestalt of burger joints.
I am a greasy spoon aficionado. I do not like fancy restaurants. They are overpriced, pretentious, and the food often isn’t very good at all. The places I love are little holes-in-the-proverbial, like Shogun in Vancouver, Michael’s Pizza in Calgary, the Wagon Wheel in Winnipeg, Villa du Souvlaki in Montreal and, in Toronto, the Patrician Grill and the Burger Priest. They’re all family-run operations, they’re well-priced, they make great food, and they treat you nicely.
All of the hype around the Burger Priest worries me. For starters, I do not want to have to deal with yet more people jamming into the place, which (literally) has less standing room than the back of your average flatbed truck. I think, too, it will only exacerbate what many Beachers know to be the problems it already has: huge lineups, crap all over the sidewalk on Queen Street East, and nearby businesses (who are also mainly good folks) having to contend with obnoxious Burger Priest patrons.
This guy is doing well, which is great. So he should take the dough he makes – and, believe me, he makes plenty – and invest in a bigger friggin’ place, with more seating, some parking and a staff person who periodically cleans up out front.
That’s my expert burger dive review. I will now go back to what I do well, which is, er, not much.