It’s official, I can reach my sugar limit. And all it took was an immeasurable amount of E-numbers, a metric fuck-ton of sugar and a national emergency of a burger.
So it’s the last Monday of the month. Well, actually, it was Tuesday, but I had LARP (I’ll explain another time) and it was bank holiday. So Tuesday it was. And what a Tuesday. This months Bimbling Foodies mission was to Polhill, which, while I’m sure it’s lovely, is in the arse-end of nowhere. This week Cara chose, so Yvonne drove, cue five of us piling into Yvonnes Noddy-mobile (sorry Yve!) and heading out. Ah, yes, we have been joined by Caras sister, young Chania, who hasn’t had the misfortune of being stuck in a car with me for long. Poor thing! Chania is lovely; quiet and reserved but a brilliant geek, possessed of a iceburg like mentality; so much more underneath. Also, did I mention geek? My kind of person!
Anyway, Cara chose an American diner, so I was already sold. Arriving at said destination (following the Bimbling Foodie tradition of ‘one picks, another drives’ and not telling you the name!) we were a little underwhelmed. Right on a main road, sandwiched between a couple of offices, it’s a fairly uninspiring looking place. But, the second we walked in, my mind was changed. Laid out in traditional American diner style, complete with the little touches that can make or break a place. The classic Gazelle parked outside, the contrast piping on the seats, the high middle table, even the music. We hadn’t booked, but we were lucky enough to be sat.
At this point, you should start feeling sorry for my companions. I love America, I have only met one American I didn’t like, which, you have to admit, is an impressive ratio! So, we were seated at the high table, and the excitement spilled over. Thankfully I was beaten to the punch by Yvonne, who spun her chair first, thus taking the attention away from the fact that I was drooling over the jukeboxes, the floor, the mustard bottle, the bar and everything else. Brilliant!
The waiter left us alone and after a decent amount of time, got the courage up to come and speak to us. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I found the service polite, swift and friendly. Considering the poor bugger was witnessing my post-LARP jitters, Yvonne spinning her chair, Jane giggling away (one day I shall record that laugh and have it as a text tone), Chania (the baby!) looking a little terrified and Cara, closely resembling our carer for the evening, he was really rather courageous.
Seeing as I had survived another week I felt that The Blues Burger (being a big fan of the films) was meant to be for me, and what a choice I made. Oh, and before I forget, raspberry vodka slushie? beautiful. Worth every sugary second. But a warning, that line halfway down the glass is the danger sign, after that. Beware! My burger arrived, along with Yvonnes Big Kahuna (huge and apparently delicious), Caras Elvis (peanut butter and bacon? Why?!) Janes Yankee Doodle-do and Chanias straight up All American, and I sat in awe of it for a while. I even felt the need to take a photo. Six ounces of prime Aberdeen Angus, topped with just enough blue cheese to make it interesting and grilled mushrooms, alongside a perfectly sized serving of (insert accent here) Freedom Fries. I felt a lump in my throat at such a burger. Moist and filled with meaty flavour. Soft and delicious. I cried a little. A proper burger.
Silence befell our table again, as I wandered into a time warp back to Texas and its tasty goodness. The live band playing a fantastic mix of 40’s to 70’s tunes. Apparently they have a Buddy Holly and an Elvis impersonator there sometimes, so I will be going back anyway!
We made our way, occasionally bobbing to the beats, through our food. And dared ourselves to desert. Again, worth it. Whoever combined honeycomb, ice cream, chocolate flakes and cheese cake deserves a medal. I felt the need to have bubblegum milkshake, and that was my only mistake. If you have one, share it. Gorgeous, but so sugary and rich, it really needs to be shared! I did ask for a sparkler, as they do a sharing platter of ice cream the size of my head, but we weren’t brave enough for that. Our waiter, a smiley lad named Mikey, looked a little terrified at my excitement at sparklers, but sadly could only manage a candle.
Our waiter bravely wandered over once to see how we were doing, and I didn’t feel the need to complain (I’m British). The only complaint I have was that we discovered that the “discretionary service tip” is not discretionary, it’s mandatory, and it doesn’t go to the staff, not unless they get a shitload of customers, and ‘hot quota’. Which I found miserably unfair. So, if you go, and decide to tip the waiter, make sure they get it in cash, on the quiet at the table!
So, now you know, it’s American style, in Polhill. As tradition states, a tradition going back generations. Well, two months. But for mayflies that is generations (all traditions have to start somewhere!) I will tell you merely where it is (Polhill) and what it is (American diner).
Besides the hideously unfair tipping debacle, the meal was delicious, the atmosphere was fantastic, the company was yet again brilliant. I wonder where we’ll be next time?!
N.B. I have recently discovered that you can ask to have the service tip removed from your bill.