Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve only gone and done it.
I have found the perfect cheeseburger, in fact, possibly even the perfect lunch. A bold claim, I know, but my GOD, was it ever delicious?
My husband has the fortune of employment just off the Kings Road, and today I met him for lunch – a rare occurrence at best as we don’t actually live in London anymore. I donned my trilby and wayfarers and strutted down the King’s Road to The Big Easy. By the time I was halfway down, I had lost count of the number of red trousers I spotted, and the number of places I’d seen on Made in Chelsea.
I was running a little late due to the unfortunate discovery, whilst getting on the bus, that my oyster card was devoid of funds, and by the time I arrived at the restaurant, Ross and a frozen margarita were waiting for me at our table. We ordered the lunchtime special of a portion of voodoo wings, followed by a burger, fries and coleslaw. The waiter was friendly and cheery (always nice to be cheery) and asked us how we wanted our burgers cooked (medium, obvs), whether we wanted any cheese (yes please, my good sir) and if the wings were to come as a starter, or alongside the main (as a starter).
So, Ross and I chatted. About the kind of stuff that married folk discuss – our offspring, the ongoing flat sale of doom, how bloody delicious the frozen margarita was, and, oh look at that, it comes from machines at the bar! Amazing! And sweet mother, they have a raspberry one, etc etc. The wings turned up, smothered in hot, sticky voodoo sauce, and a little tub of blue cheese dip. We tucked in, and I may have made almost sexual noises over the wings. (Oh mah geeerrrrrrddddd, these are soooo good) The sauce was spiky, and hit the back of the throat beautifully, the wings were good and meaty (is there anything sadder than a skinny wing? It’s doubtful), and the dip had big chunks of blue cheese in. There was a good puddle of sauce at the bottom of the bowl, and if you have blue cheese dip left over, then I insist upon you mixing it in with the voodoo sauce for a post wing treat.
Ten or so minutes after we’d finished the wings, and three quarters of the margarita down, the burgers appeared, fat and juicy and perched on a brioche bun. Ross dived right in, but I am a lady, so I cut mine in half. And lo! The burgers were indeed cooked medium. So often I’ve cut into a burger and it’s been overcooked, and I am disappointed, but not so here. The cheese was oozy and there were sticky onions and fresh tomato nestled underneath the meat. Amazing.
I am a sucker for slaw – I make my own all the time, and I was really pleased to see the coleslaw at The Big Easy wasn’t generic vinegary cabbage and onions. It was finely shredded and superbly creamy, and I swear I could even taste a hint of honey. It came with a big ole’ wedge of a pickle on top, and this, too, pleased me greatly.
The fries were golden and plentiful, indeed, I couldn’t finish mine, because by the time I got around to them, I was pretty stuffed. So, instead I gave them to Ross, and ordered us both a second margarita. Well, why not?
The whole delicious experience lasted about an hour, but I reckon you could eek it out if you wanted a more leisurely lunch, or even rein it in if you had places to be. The bill came to just under £40 (due to our second margaritas – the lunch deal is £9.95 per head) and all in all we both felt that was a good deal for such epic fare.
After we waddled out of the joint, Ross went back to work, and I, Chelsea’d out, sat on the 319 back to Tooting and had a pleasant, if not somewhat odd chat to an elderly fellow passenger about his bag of bird seed, and how I am too old for school, despite my carrying a blue satchel (and youthful looks. No?).
So the next time you are in Chelsea, go and grab yourself a burger and wings from The Big Easy. It’s best to book though, as they get busy.