“I’m A Food Journalist & I’ve Found The Best Burger In London”
I think the differences between New York and London are glaringly stark. It has always irritated me when people mistake their likeness simply because the two cities almost speak the same language. In reality, they couldn’t be further from each other.
New York is a city built on immigrants with clear, blatant pockets of communities who settled there together. Because of these pockets, because of the generational experiences of “moving to New York”, because of that mutual struggle, New Yorkers gather. The sense of community is altogether different from that of London. New York has never made it easy. It is tough. Dirty. If you’re not careful, it’ll break you.
On the other hand, London is a place of old-school style. Londoners have been walking around this city since the Romans founded it 2,000 years ago. Of course, the city has evolved into its own sort of melting pot, but the towers still stand, many of which are older than the States’ very own Constitution. The novelty of London is that of fairytales, sparkly stories of princes and princesses.
This burger is, to me, the greatest engineered burger of all time. Visually, it is a masterpiece.
Mallory, Junior Food & Drink Editor
What sets it apart
So, where Dante New York acts as a community meeting ground, one that started in 1915 with Italian immigrants safely gathering over espressos, with writers and poets taking a break from the struggle of being a creator in New York, Dante London acts as a new sparkly ballroom for the wealthy.
Splendour aside, I was called to go there for one reason, or perhaps two: a burger with a martini.
Dante opened in London this year in perhaps the most infamously glitzy hotel in Mayfair: Claridge’s. Its tall ceilings and descent into the dining room, coupled with runners in white suits and waitresses in cotton dresses serving hefty bills, all tucked neatly under the banner of the UK flag and the Claridge’s logo, paint this as an “it place”, a spot to dress up for, a high-end affair for those confident enough to book. Splendour aside, I was called to go there for one reason, or perhaps two: a burger with a martini.
What we ordered
Heeding this calling, I (with confidence) floated in in blue jeans and a jumper. Perhaps I was out of place, perhaps I did not care. Dante, after all, was built for the everyman. “I’d like a burger, fries and with them, a Dante Martini.”
On a silver tray with a labelled carafe, a martini glass with its garnish, and a dropper for olive oil, the ritual of the Dante Martini arrived. It’s a Vesper, a mix of gin and vodka with lemon bitters. It is a fabulous way to wake yourself up in the early-afternoon slump that existing in a city entails; it is relentless. It made me think: perhaps the reason martinis are everywhere right now is not that they are aesthetic or chic, but because we are all so damn tired and the only way to pinch ourselves awake is with a lethal blend of straight liquor. Pick-me-up or not, this may well be the best one on the planet. But with the subtle ceremony of it, the smart smirks of the bartenders, I think that they already knew that.
Perhaps I was out of place, perhaps I did not care. Dante, after all, was built for the everyman.
The burger, the unassuming companion to the ever-so-fashionable martini, was, if it is even possible, better than its brazen cocktail counterpart. Visually, this was as close you could get to the perfect burger without using a computer to alter its image. Two patties, thin but not smashed so as to rid them of any and all flavour (like some). Provolone thinly draped over said patties, a cheese so reminiscent of the burger’s origins in New York. A non-overwhelming bit of caramelised onion, a smear of ketchup and this was unlike any other burger I’d had as of late.
Visually, this was as close you could get to the perfect burger without using a computer to alter its image.
That is because this is not a London burger; it is a New York burger. It is simple, sandwiched within a bun that is sturdy enough to support its inner oils, fats and sauces, soft enough to sink into the pressure of your fingertips. It balances integrity and structure with all of the nostalgic flavours of a burger’s burger. It does not show off, but it is perhaps the most attractive thing you have ever seen. This burger is, to me, the greatest engineered burger of all time. Visually, it is a masterpiece.
Verdict
Dante Mayfair is not the original Dante. It is sparkly and clean, heels clack on the marble floor and bathroom attendants turn your tap on for you. These two places are worlds away, because London is not New York. For that, we should not look for crumbs of the original. However, there will be signs. There will be classic burgers, and there will be original martinis. In them, we should relish. London is lucky enough to have been graced by a whisper of Dante, and to have had the opportunity to make it our own.
Where: Claridge’s, Brook St, London W1K 4HR
Website: www.dantemayfair.com
