Good for drunken munching, not for those in a hurry
Ah work drinks. The mad dash for the nearest pub, the herds of already-drunk suits at the bar, and the drunken search for food because if you pass out in your clothes again your housemates might call Alcoholics Anonymous.
Well I won't let that happen. Not again. So on Friday we stumbled out of the Old Fountain in Old Street (a brilliant craft beer pub you should all go to) and headed for the Box Park – where a poor, lonely waitress at Bukowski Grill took orders from, served and cleared up after 100 unruly drunken hipsters. As we stood and felt ourselves growing old in the queue, we started to muse about giving her a hand to speed up the process. After 15 minutes we were arguing about who we'd kill and eat first in the queue. After 20 we'd worked out who, but not how to tell them. by 25 we were searching for a gun. Instead, we went and bought beers from the Pieminister next door and concentrated on staying drunk. After 30 we started to consider going to back to Pieminister next door to eat – and the only reason we didn't was that every other drunk had had the same idea, and they had sold out of pies.
Finally we got served by the inexplicably upbeat waitress, and retreated to the long wooden tables that overlook Shoreditch Overground. Not a fine view, but with a Camden Hells in hand there are worse places to be on a Friday. Like a burger joint overlooking Willesden Junction.
Bukowski Grill's website claims that their "Josper grill" can cook burgers in record time – and to be fair the Purist burgers did arrive pretty quickly. Evidently the chef was having a better time of it than the waitress. However, their promise of sealing in the flavours wasn't so evident. It was a decent burger, but nothing I could even really string a sentence together about. It wasn't as rare as I'd like, the bun was toasted an slightly dry, and the toppings more important to the appearance than the taste. But the chips. God help me the chips. They were a goddamn joy. Fat as Lisa Riley and triple cooked in beef dripping. Its probably the only restaurant in the world where you could drunkenly order a plate of chips and not feel guilty, cheated and disappointed when they arrive. They were a lovely meal in themselves, especially with the homemade peppery mayo which was a lovely touch.
You should know that I was drunk, starving and made to wait, so on the verge of just biting the nearest person that even resembled a cow, but if you find yourself at Box Park of an evening, skip the shit looking fish and chips, ignore the rum bar (until later) and get yourself a good burger and better chips. At a tenner it's more than decent, and if the queue's big just buy your beers from Pieminister.