My all-time favorite Far Side cartoon depicts a portly, bespectacled man lecturing verbosely and articulately to a dog, which hears only its own name — "Blah blah Ginger blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah Ginger."
In this week's dining column, I am that portly bespectacled man, who may as well be writing "Blah blah Top Chef blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah Foie Gras Milkshake."
Because no matter what I say about Flip Burger, the funky and festive local outpost of the Atlanta-based burger boutique, everything will be trumped by the facts that Top Chef All-Stars winner Richard Blais' name is attached and there is indeed a milkshake infused with emulsified goose liver and Amaretto reduction and chilled with liquid nitrogen.
If this were any other establishment, without a marquee name or frigid drifts of LN2 billowing over the bar, I could draft an ambivalent litany of pros and cons about menu and execution that might leave a reader scratching her head and contemplating whether To Flip or Not to Flip. I could point out that the cheese curds dipped in funnel cake-esque batter and fried to pillowy, molten perfection were among the most worthwhile efforts of nutritional nose-thumbing that I have ever dared to consume. Then, in the same breath, I could tell you that the onion rings were undercooked, wet and soggy with oil.
I could tell you that the elegant "mango sphere" on tuna tartare was a playful sunny touch of accessible avant-garde cuisine. Then I could tell you that the fried egg on the chorizo burger was so undercooked that we had to sponge clear, cool albumen off the bun. Thick-cut fries cooked in beef fat were crisp and greaseless. Marshmallow foam with sweet potato tots was flat and dull.
In normal restaurant-review situations, you'd process the observations, calculate the risk, factor in your location and affection for sandwiches, then make an informed choice about queuing up for an hour.
But in this case, all anyone seems to be hearing is, "Blah blah Top Chef ... blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah Foie Gras Milkshake." These highlights, along with a few other dazzling data points, appear to be fueling an irrational exuberance over a latter-day diner, where despite consistently inconsistent execution, there's seldom less than an hour's wait.
Am I right, Ginger?
People who live in irrationally exuberant houses shouldn't throw stones, and I'll be the first to admit that I really enjoyed Flip Burger. I've been three times (four if you count the time I gave up on the wait), and I look forward to returning, because I test-drove the menu thoroughly enough to discover the prizes and pitfalls.
Let's start with the prizes.
The Classic Burger. Cooked to a perfect medium-rare, this all-American patty with fluffy Bibb lettuce, a tomato slice, ketchup and onion was elegantly simple and clocked in at $7.50. Thank you, Mr. Blais. For an extra $1, you can trade the glossy dome of brioche (made by local Charpier's Bakery) for a gluten-free bun. Better yet, there's no charge to 86 the bread altogether and wrap that meat in a sturdy frond of iceberg for what could, theoretically, qualify as a salad. My companion and I also enjoyed the Oaxaca Burger, laden with avocado, cilantro-lime mayo, pico de gallo and queso fresca.
An even grander prize emerged on the non-beef roster, where the Lamburger with feta, arugula and pickled cauliflower, pink onions and cucumbers was a vibrant, colorful pile-on of texture, accented with warm hints of Mediterranean spice and cool tzaziki. The Lamburger was the sandwich that will lure me back to Flip Burger. But if it sounds like there's too much going on in the architecture of that sandwich, wait 'til you see some of Blais' other inventions.
The butcher's cut, for example, piled bleu cheese and caramelized onions onto a succulent patty, then dropped a salad of frisée overdressed in soy-truffle vinaigrette on top, and finished with a tangle of pickled shallots and a schmear of red wine jam. Just. Too. Much.
In the case of the aforementioned chorizo burger with egg-white slime, the overkill wasn't in the excess of ingredients but in their intensity. The sausage patty was overwhelmingly salty, not to mention tough and dry. We likened it to a jerky burger.
While we were delighted to find steak tartare on the menu, complete with sunny egg on top, the wet binding of mustard sauce overwhelmed the raw ground beef, and the pretty Parmesan tuile punched the combination of salt and tang deep into the red zone. The tuna tartare was similarly intense, laced with avocado and mango purees, wasabi and soy sauce, and tossed with fresh herbs, Asian pear, pine nuts, carrots and finely julienned cucumber skin. (If the flavors get modulated, this generous sushi-grade medley will be a go-to order, though we'll ask for it without the bun.)
Our table let out a collective moan upon hearing the ingredients of the burger of the month — beef patty topped with veal shortrib, gremolata aioli, ketchup reduction and fried onion rings — but no one actually ordered it. Maybe no one wanted to admit to such indulgence. Or maybe we had all learned lessons in moderation from previous cases of too-much-of-a-good-thing at Flip.
Actually, we applauded the portion control of the dishes. There wasn't necessarily too much food. It's just that too often there was too much going on. Too much competing flavor on a burger. Too much dressing in the kale-carrot slaw. Too much seasoned batter holding too much moisture in the hot fried rabbit.
And yet, after a January opening, there are still too many people crammed into booths and barstools for you to get a seat without waiting an hour.
Ginger, how can this be?
Blah blah Top Chef blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah Milkshakes.
I can't speak firsthand about Blais, who runs his brand remotely from California. But I can tell you that the milkshakes, chilled to order with a shot of liquid nitrogen, add a whimsical element of fun and excitement, from start to finish. From appetizer to dessert. From first puff of LN2 to final slurp through straw.
For dessert, our favorites were Turtle (vanilla with chocolate and caramel sauces and toasted pecans) and Nutella (rich dark chocolate-infused ice cream topped with brûléed marshmallows). That said, the marshmallows could be torched more delicately. Ours were ash-black, cold and spongy.
As much as it shocked me, I loved the famous foie gras shake. Turns out, there's nothing gross about the marriage of rich cream, amaretto and the stealthy umami of goose liver, which disappears into the cold velvet shake. Especially if you think of it as an appetizer instead of as dessert. I had never thought of that.
That's the strength of Flip Burger: Blais & Co. think of things differently. Some of Flip's excessive mash-ups could use re-thinking. And some executions could use fine-tuning. But with so much creativity on the menu and energy in the dining room, patience might be rewarded. With time, Flip Burger might tighten things up, and you might finally get a table.
Flip Burger serves lunch and dinner daily.
Email arts@nashvillescene.com
