6005 W. Pico Blvd. (@ Crescent Heights) ~ Los Angeles, CA 90035 (TACO Guide)
There’s something sleazily sexy about this joint, which earns its local title through embodying our municipality and a trace of its modern culture through a dope neon sign, a tiny little pink facade, and cheap, satisfying fare for the lost angels of Pico-Fairfax. Like a glittering strip-club in an industrial stretch of town or a bare bones strip-mall sushi counter in Gardena, L.A. Burger’s promise of tawdry excess, tempting exposure shrouded in outer beauty, plus homebred talent leaks from the So-Cal soul of this structure featured frequently in films and supermodel photo shoots. Still, like so many mirages under the Hollywood sign, when I go there, I usually get a dude with a cool mustache or some hard-working homie on his lunch break sitting next to me, not Leticia Casta, lucky for her ass.
Things work pretty quickly and easily at L.A. Burger, but does this burger live up to the “Best Burger in L.A.” boast found on its banner, and can L.A. Burger’s burger really rep for our sprawling city, earning said moniker rightly on the basis of buns and beef? Upon my first two tries of L.A. Burger’s burger, I was not overly impressed with how it backs up its big mouth. Though yards tastier than the slightly below average burger over at Santa Monica’s Hamburger Haven, which busts similar braggadocio of better burgers, it can’t compete with In N’ Out or 25 Degrees, among other burger brothers ‘pon the scene. Onion rings and fries were even less interesting and the coffee blows too.
After a couple tries of this spot’s namesake entree, I narrowed my first problem towards the increasing trend of burgers coming with their toppings on the bottom, a backward trend found at many citywide burger spots these days. They are called ‘toppings’ for a very specific reason, and it just doesn’t feel right, like the time my ex-girl had me try submission for a change. My second beef is with the beef; it was overcooked, but not hard just a tad crisp, not juicy enough, no love or care put in there. Though it was still more scrut than fast-food, it was not even balanced out by anything stellar in its prep, with an execution nearly as fucked-up as Barzan Ibrahim al-Tikriti’s (rimshot please!). But the burger overall with enough jazz on it, was good tasting, nicely over medium-sized and satisfying, plus convenient and cheap enough for a repeat try or two, just not a significant contribution to the annals of Angeleno burgers as of yet.
In time I started hitting this mutherfucker up for breakfast to satisfy my uncontrollable hunger for chicken ovum. With neighborhood hang Nick’s massive omelets across the street and Petit Sara’s more boughie, expensive, and precious preparations next door, L.A. Burger’s large, buttery masses of harder egg pies, lined above with avocado, flecked with tomato, onion and cheese, and lightly crusted on top, with a little pile of ‘taters, and a side of buttered wheat toast, make the best stick-to-my-ribs-all-day alternative for a fella constantly waiting for checks that are supposedly “in the mail.”
(Continued)
(4 tacos)
No Tacos
