Tons of Fun at 8oz. Burger Bar

What do you do when it’s late on a Tuesday night and you would give anything for a burger that actually tastes like…a burger?

You go to 8oz. Burger Bar on Melrose.

The Dark Knight and I sauntered in, sans reservations, to this egalitarian omnivore joint sometime after 9pm. After a long day at work, we needed some cocktails. My classic whiskey sour was a mix of bourbon, lemon juice and “sweetness” shaken to a light froth on the rocks and topped with a cherry. It was undoubtedly the best whiskey sour I’ve ever had (downright mind-blowing compared to the bottled mix/well whiskey sours of my past).


The Dark Knight was feeling adventurous, choosing a drink with no description: the “Grounds for Divorce.” When it arrived in all its milky splendor, I knew what it was from one brief sniff of the licorice scent. “Absinthe,” I pronounced before taking a small sip. After a larger taste, the Dark Knight nodded his head in agreement and proceeded to fidget with his straw. Hmmm…

Our food came promptly, smelling like heaven. The truffled potato skins, fat wedges of deep-fried goodness, sat in the middle of the table. After a few moments, the aroma wafted towards the Dark Knight, encouraging him to pick up a potato and take a huge whiff. “It’s like smelling the most fragrant rose in the world,” he said with a goofy smile.

Our burgers were no less than fabulous. My Estancia grass fed burger came dressed with charred escarole, roasted mushrooms (shitake?), and my chosen addition, gorgeous bel paese cheese. The cheese, creamy and beautifully melted, lent a subtle buttery flavor to the burger and complemented the juicy burger and was the perfect foil to the gentle bitterness of the escarole. All of these delicious burger accessories served to highlight the succulent flavor of my superbly cooked beef.

The Dark Knight’s burger, the signature 8oz., looked fabulous. He chose to add avocado and bleu cheese, the creaminess of the avocado smoothing out the pungent cheese. The burgers here come medium to medium rare because Executive Chef Govind Armstrong (who was on premises that night—woohoo!) believes they are best enjoyed that way. We wholeheartedly agree!

Our conversation fell to the wayside as the Dark Knight and I devoured our burgers, stopping only to exclaim around mouthfuls, “I can’t put this down!” and “Oh my God, this is amazing.” We may never eat normal burgers again.

Wide-eyed from the absinthe and giddy from our carnivorous feast, the Dark Knight convinced me that dessert would be a good idea. Well, sure. Let’s dawdle to let the alcohol in our systems work its way out. Little did we know that our dessert would send us into even more fits of ecstasy.

With a dessert list featuring comfort food favorites like NY-style cheesecake with strawberries, chocolate sundae, and Meyer rum bread pudding. We opted for the banana split, pretending that it was less unhealthy because of the banana. So maybe the health benefits of the banana were cancelled out by the rich ice cream and incredibly decadent chocolate sauce, but we couldn’t resist. Fluffy whipped cream, only vaguely sweetened to maintain flavor balance, chopped peanuts, and fresh strawberries were perfect accompaniments. The real star, however, was the caramel sauce. Its deep flavor and velvety mouthfeel prompted the Dark Knight to tell our waitress, “This is no joke. So good.”

Indeed, our entire meal was no joke. Flawlessly executed using the best, freshest ingredients, the first-rate dishes we tried guarantee a return trip.

Among the items we’ve vowed to try in the future (read: on multiple visits throughout the next few weeks because we’re addicted): “small snacks” like chorizo-stuffed fried olives, mini Kobe corndogs with purple ketchup, and deviled eggs sprinkled with smoked paprika (the table next to us ordered them, and the Dark Knight almost asked them for a taste); short rib grilled cheese sandwich with that glorious bel paese, “the best turkey burger in LA,” according to Chris, one of the owners, and the “suds and slider” sampler with mini burgers made variously of wild boar and other untraditional meats.

There’s “nothing artificial” in the cocktails, promised our waitress, making the list especially appealing. The blackberry Collins made with vodka or gin, muddled blackberries, and hand-squeezed lemon juice; the elderflower daiquiri, rum mixed with elderflower liquor, fresh lime and white cranberry juices, and mint leaves; and the cherry vodka sour made with cherry vodka, cranberry juice, housemade grenadine, and lemon juice are definitely on the must-try list. Wines go for $8/glass, $16/carafe, and $32/bottle—a good deal for international and domestic favorites like prosecco and a 2004 Tempranillo that should go perfectly with those mini Kobe corndogs I’m planning on having next week.

The minimalist awnings outside make this amazing burger spot easy to miss unless you're familiar with the street, but it is so worth the hunt. On the other hand, the interior of this space is a highly unique mix of NYC gastropubs (beer menu written on a huge mirror, pressed tin ceiling) and old-school farmhouses (a big, weathered white kitchen table for larger groups, gabled ceiling between indoor and outdoor seating). It’s a charming space, one designed to make the diner feel comfortable and at home, a refreshing change from the starched white linen of its last inhabitant.

So never fear, food fans: the latest incarnation of this acclaimed Melrose location has a brand new life—one that the Dark Knight and I both hope lasts for a very, very long time.

Table 10...and a half

No. No, no, no, no, no. The Dark Knight and I tried so hard to like Emeril Lagasse’s latest offering at Palazzo in Las Vegas, Table 10. But we couldn’t. There are so many things wrong here: billed as a New Orleans-inspired fine dining restaurant, we expected food that would bring our tastebuds back to the glory days of NOLA cuisine; barring the NOLA experience, we wanted delicious food; given Emeril’s long history of successful establishments, we thought it wouldn’t be too much to ask to have a normal table on a fairly vacant night. Foiled on all counts.

This isn’t to say that everything was horrible. Quite the contrary—when the food was good, it was pretty good. My starter of seafood and andouille sausage gumbo with white rice was tasty in all the right ways, though perhaps a bit too spicy for my taste.

My main course, fennel-cured salmon over lightly dressed arugula and mandolined cucumbers, was refreshing and wonderful. The Dark Knight’s dessert of sorbet, including pear, blackberry, and strawberry, was great. And my white chocolate-filled malasadas, those balls of fried dough so central to Hawaiian cuisine, were deep-fried perfection.

But that’s the problem. The one dish on the menu that was overtly NOLA was just…fine. Our favorite dish was Hawaiian (by way of Portugese) in nature, a severe departure from the publicized intent of Table 10.

The Dark Knight’s starter, escargot in a gravy-like butter sauce over a crouton round was barely edible. “Flavorless, rabbit turd-looking mess,” said the Dark Knight as I reached across the table to try it. I nodded in agreement.

We dismissed that dish as an example of a recipe gone awry. But when the Dark Knight’s entrée arrived, we realized that this was going to be a strange night. On the menu, roasted salmon over chorizo and tomatoes sounds pretty good. On the plate, however, it’s downright awful. The salmon, slightly overcooked, arrived atop a mushy mélange of tortilla chunks and chorizo cubes, tossed in a chunky tomato sauce. The sauce itself was rather bland, lending a sameness of flavor to every bite. Given that most NOLA food is not only highly seasoned, but rarely employs tortillas, this plate gave us pause. What was this? We wondered.

Dessert seemed to have come from a completely different kitchen. The sorbets were delightful in their vibrant fruitiness. My malasadas were warm, dusted in cinnamon-sugar, and pleasantly crisp on the outside. The interior was uniformly soft and moist, fluffy with just the right amount of chewiness. The accompanying crème anglaise was nothing to write home about, but it sufficed.

The real star of the show was my drink, an absinthe concoction with fruit juice and blueberries. The licorice flavor of the absinthe was front and center, but nicely balanced by the sweetness of the fruit. Every sip was a search for treasure—the treasure being bits of muddled blueberries. Garnished with a sprig of mint, the aroma was enticing and clean.

Earlier, I noted that the layout of the restaurant is questionable. The reason I bring it up at all is that it is a physical manifestation of all that is wrong at Table 10. The Dark Knight’s half of the table was in one dining room—hardwood floors, a glass wall showcasing an enormous wine collection—while my half of the table was in what appeared to be a walkway. The two spaces were defined by a curtain that, when drawn, would have cut the table in half. A visual cue to diners at our table, and the matching one next to us, that there are indeed two worlds here: the one with inconsistent food, and the one with delicious drinks.

I try not to write about negative experiences on this blog, but this is one instance in which I feel it’s important to alert my (laughably few) readers to the disappointment that is Table 10. After all, no one should have to suffer the way the Dark Knight and I have.