The Burger KING?

Often proclaimed for having the best burgers in the Boston area, Mr. Bartley's even received the title of "best burgers in America" from the Boston Globe (I'm sure there is no bias).  No doubt that this is one historical landmark (open since 1960), lounging smack in the middle of Harvard Square with massive lines jutting from the door just about every day.  I was a little skeptical at first because the place is entirely too touristy.  As you wait in line, a hostess gives you menus and comes back to take your order so that when you do eventually get seated, your burgers arrive not too long after.

Although the line was long, it moved quickly and within 20 minutes, Cat, Jess and I were seated.  Beverages were immediately set down in front of us, along with the s'mores frappe we ordered to share.  The frappe was incredibly comforting; fresh chocolate ice cream, graham crackers and whipped cream cycloned together to create a classic milkshake.  As waiters shouted over to chefs and school kids laughed in a corner, I observed the condiment selection at our table.  Ketchup and mustard, the standards, were available in plastic tubes, along with little buckets of toppings: sliced sandwich pickles, thick white onions, and a hot pepper jelly.

Our three burgers arrived swiftly, and I excitedly bit into my juicy burger topped with sauerkraut and Russian dressing.  Sizzling with moistness, the burger was anything but neat, and I indulged in the flavors and juices composed in each bite.  Admittedly, I may like the standard burger at Mr. Bartley’s more (than the beloved R.F.), but the bun, which was a bit soggy, is far superior at R.F.  As a complete package, R.F.’s BlackJack, slathered with Cajun spices, is still #1 in my eyes, but wow.  Mr. Bartley’s did not fail to impress me.

Additional photos taken inside and outside (note line out the door!!)

Sandwich-Hands' Egg-cellent Adventure!

Wow, you're still reading this? Even after that outrageously cheesy title? Ok I'll try to make this worth it. After being thoroughly disappointed that Mr.Bartley's was closed on Sundays (and obviously didn't check the website before going there), my friends and I headed to Garden at the Cellar. Div, Jess and Kate were all in a burger mood, but I had heard so much about the egg sandwich (and after rave reviews from the waitress), I had to see what all the fuss was about. When the egg sandwich arrived, it looked like a piece of art; the skillet eggs were slightly protruding from the perfectly toasted bun, which was displayed affectionately aside a heaping pile of shoestring rosemary truffle fries. Lifting the top bun was like a pirate finding treasure in an underground cave. Excitedly, I took a long lingering glance at the fresh avocado slices, the melted cheddar cheese dripping toward the plate and the long, crispy applewood-smoked bacon strips with slightly burnt edges (just the way I like it). When the fatty avocado slices mixed with a garlicky-mayo spread on the slightly sweet brioche roll, the flavors that came together after that first bite were inconceivable. Let's just say I think I made my poor hungover stomach's day. I love breakfast sandwiches (usually sausage, egg and cheese on an english muffin from Theo's Cozy Corner on Salem Street is my go-to), but this glorified breakfast sandwich is in its own league. My only one suggestion would be to cook the eggs over-easy, I prefer my eggs more on the runny side. (Not so runny that it drips to my clothes, but enough so that the yolk can thoroughly soak into my sandwich.) The hard yolk ended up sliding out of my sandwich, and I was too busy micro-managing my avocado slices, ensuring they stay packed into my sandwich, to worry about the yolk. Definitely not a date sandwich, I went through a lot of napkins and had to re-fix my sandwich multiple times. Proven fact though: the messier the better.