Guest Blog: Átha Cliath Borgaire Mairteola, by 'G'.

Meathead Eats is for the foodie community, such that I hope to share what y'all are eating as much as what I'm eating. So, when I received a review from my buddy Geraint, I was pleased as punch.

For many of us, Geraint’s name is hard to pronounce with the Welsh twang it demands, and so he is better known in some circles as ‘G’.  It was hardly surprising, then, that he moved to Ireland to start a lovely family of his own, all with equally unpronounceable names. Seriously, I couldn't type his daughters name on this keyboard if I tried. It is simply not equipped to do so.

He lives near a small village which I visited once for his wedding. If memory serves me, it had 2 streets, 3 churches and 5 pubs. More relevantly, it turns out he is a great writer. So, when he offered his perspective from the rural Irish countryside he calls home, I couldn't have been more thrilled. On that note, over to you, G… 

Átha Cliath Borgaire Mairteola 

When my good friend Meathead decided that he was launching a food blog, I was excited.  The man knows his meat, and he knows how to write about it so it was always going to be a winning formula.  But unfortunately, Meathead is but one man. He can’t possibly eat and review every burger out there, so I made a vow to myself that every burger, barbeque, steakhouse and meat inspired restaurant I visit from now on, I’ll write a little review for the site.

My decision to contribute was helped by the fact I live in Ireland, and Meathead doesn't, so there’s little chance of our reviews overlapping.  Specifically I live in a very rural, sparsely populated, highly stereotypical part of Ireland.  The part of Ireland where dining out looks a bit like this:

But last weekend, with Mrs. G wanting to spend lots of money in shops and the kids wanting to see Santa, we decided to head for the big smoke, the capital, Dublin Town, Átha Cliath.  We thought that this might be an opportunity to eat in a decent restaurant for a change.  The kids, however, had slightly different ideas and after three hours of traipsing around the Liffey Valley shopping centre drew the line, pointed at Burger King and politely informed me that they weren't moving any further without a helping of chicken nuggets and chips.  Three hours of shopping left me in no mood to have a “discussion” with a five year old and two year old, so we succumbed to the garish blue, white, red and yellow of Burger King – Liffey Valley.

My vow to the site still stands though, so here we go with my first review.

The ambiance of the restaurant doesn't really relax you before your meal.  It’s bright, it’s loud, but on the plus side it’s got those seats that you can strap a two year old into to stop them running around the place like crazed little hyperactive balloon chasing zombies protect them, so that’s a good thing.  However, they don’t serve beer which is a huge downside.

The choice was quite wide; I decided to go for the XL Bacon Double Cheeseburger meal, which coincidentally is the exact same meal that I’ve had every time I’ve been to Burger King for the past 15 years or so.  Burger King’s literature tells me that this is what I’d be getting:

This is what mine looked like:

In fairness, it’s not a bad approximation of their picture.  I've seen far worse fast food burgers than that. 

I've probably eaten hundreds of these things over the years, and never really paused to consider what they actually taste like.  Surprisingly, I thought the burger itself needed more salt.  It was a bit bland and underwhelming.  Almost like it was there to take the part of the burger, but its heart wasn't really in it (maybe it was, you never know with mass produced fast food).  The cheese was gooey and tasteless, and the bacon was dry but probably the most flavourful part of the meal.  The bun held together well.  I added ketchup to it would be dry as f’ck without it, and I ate it all, with fries and a large drink.

Scoring the burger is difficult.  It gave me exactly what I expected from it.  It’s not there to be a gourmet burger, it’s there to give you the same meal you've had hundreds of times before in exactly the same way.  That said, if I mark it with anything other than a terrible score, it means there’s not much chance of Ireland impressing the readers of Meathead Eats, so it’s getting 2/10, and it’s only getting that because I ate it all and I’ll probably eat one again at some point in the future.

Back home to the west now where I hope we’ll see an improvement on our Dublin adventure.  The only way is up from here Ireland.

-G-

Burger In The Woods

A short while back I found myself in Symonds Yat, an impossibly scenic village which straddles the River Wye as it cuts an ancient path through the Forest of Dean in England.  Now, when I say “found myself” there, I mean was dragged there by none other than Miss Meathead (she won’t love that name). 

This is not uncommon for our weekends. You see, Miss Meathead loves being outdoors doing physically exhausting things and she is undeterred by weather of any kind. A lifetime of Welsh wind and rain has left her hardened to the elements and somehow she always convinces me to come along. It is not a weekend unless I’m soaking wet, freezing, gasping for air or all of the above. Yet, after going through something similar to the stages of grief, I inevitably reach acceptance and beyond. The natural beauty found in these parts means the journey is always worth the view at the end.

Such was the case on this particular day. Only this time, the reward for our efforts was much more than a view. It was a burger. More than that, it was a burger that falls somewhere on the list of the best I've had on this side of the Atlantic.

Better yet, this burger was not planned, but stumbled upon after several hours of walking which included an awkward descent into the Wye Valley which I managed with all the grace of a bear on skates.

The River Wye

The River Wye forms a natural border between the two English counties of Herefordshire and Gloucestershire and also splits Symonds Yat into two areas. Symonds Yat West is on the Herefordshire side and sports, among other things, a Butterfly Zoo (I dunno)…Symonds Yat East is on the Gloucestershire side and is the home of the Saracens Head, home of a fantastic welsh beef burger which, with respect, I did not expect to find tucked away in the sticks.

Miss Meathead herself, crossing over to the Saracens Head

To get to the Saracens Head from the other side of the river there is a little boat which is pulled over a wire, from one side to the other, all day long. It was operated by a friendly chap who had the calm demeanour and lack of urgency one might expect from the dude manning the village boat.

The Welsh Beef Burger | Saracens Head Pub | Symonds Yat, England, UK

The burger itself was well proportioned (the science behind burger proportions is a topic for another day). It used a red cheddar cheese which had just the right “goo factor”. It finished it off with some red onion, tomatoes and an unidentified sauce that tasted of a spicy ketchup. It was a harmoniously savoury to say the least.

The best compliment I can give the burger is that I’d do that walk again just to eat it. Miss Meathead had some mussels which I don’t have a pictures of but, ya know, if you’ve seen one mussel, you’ve seen them all.

-meathead

A New Hope

This Man Knows His BBQ

I'm happy to report that the diversity of food to be found in Cardiff has grown steadily since I first settled here over a decade ago. In those days I would stagger out of a pub in a ravenous state, only to be greeted by a seemingly endless, homogeneous cycle of fish & chip shops and kebab takeaways selling meat of questionable origin. Of course, by then I’d have a case of the munchies such that I could have eaten the ass out of a low flying duck, but that is beside the point. Boundaries have been broken since those barren times and the future is bright for the local grub scene.

With that said, one area still finding its feet is that of BBQ…There have been a few attempts that I know of, most of which have fallen a bit short in delivering the goods. Up until a few weeks ago, every BBQ place I’d sat down at in Cardiff was akin to watching the Jamaicans in Cool Runnings. Good effort, but lacking refinement. Simply put, it is an art -  nay, a skill - that has not blossomed here just yet, leaving a wood smoked hole in my heart. After my family, my friends and sunshine, there is nothing I miss about home more than BBQ.  

So, you can imagine my excitement when my buddy Karey – a transplanted Oklahoman - told me about a place called the Hang Fire Smokehouse, operating as a part time pop-up in a local watering hole known as “The Canadian”.  That is Karey pictured up top, helpfully presenting his plate. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking he looks like E.T if E.T were white and wore glasses. I can assure you, that’s just the lighting, and that dude knows a lot about a lot, including BBQ. When he said he “knew a place”, I knew we had to pay a visit. 

Turns out, Hang Fire is run by a couple of Irish chicks who spent a while in the States specifically to learn BBQ. They set up a home base in Tennessee and then toured the BBQ hotspots all over the south, including Texas (word). Having learned from the masters, they came back to the UK and set up shop, even going so far as to import of wood from the US to get the smoking right. That, my friends, is respect for the craft. Gotta love it.

As soon as I walked in, I knew these girls knew what they were doing. It was the small things, the details they had right where others had failed. For instance: the sauce. BBQ aficionados know that not all BBQ involves sauce, but its nice to have good sauce on the tables. Cardiff pubs/restaurants have this bizarre, almost militant stance against sauce on the tables. Any kind of sauce. Commonly in pubs, if one should ask for ketchup, the waiter will bring a tiny pot of ketchup with a spoon and stand there while you sheepishly take your spoonful. Not at Hang Fire. No Siree, Bob.  They had their own sauces that they made daily. Tasty to boot. Its the little things, folks.

BBQ Buffalo Wings | The Hang Fire Smokehouse | Cardiff, Wales, UK

 We started with a couple plates of wings.  Damn good. Fat, succulent, well seasoned. Had 2 plates full and that was just for starters.

Brisket Plate | The Hang Fire Smokehouse | Cardiff, Wales, UK

From there we moved on to the brisket. A favourite of mine and they did not disappoint. Tender, it fell apart with the slightest rub from my fork. Still, the star of this plate was that pot of beans. It was a fantastic mix of beef and beans and, presumably, magic dust. I dunno what that pickle is doing there but it could have used a big ol pickle wedge. A small critique of what amounts to a terrifically tasty plate.

Pulled Pork Plate | The Hangfire Smokehouse | Cardiff, Wales, UK

Last, we hit up the pulled pork. Normally, I take my pulled pork in sammich form but here it was served without bread. The meat was sublime. It harmonised perfectly with their home made sauce and dissolved on the tongue. Plenty of fries, nicely seasoned, but by that point I was so full I was just throwing the fries at my mouth in a futile attempt to continue eating. Once again, the plate is garnished by a mystery pickle slice. 

My final analysis? This place is the real deal. If you find yourself in Cardiff on a weekend and want to taste some authentic BBQ, check this place out. 

-meathead

(Note: you can see their FB page here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Hang-Fire-Smokehouse/203591489778567)

Howdy

"The Bomb Sandwich" | The Institute of Chili | San Antonio, Texas, USA

Welcome to Meathead Eats. I'm meathead, or at least I am to a fair chunk of my friends back home in San Antonio, Texas. There is a story behind that name, but I'll save that for a slow news day.

You need only to look at me to know that I enjoy food. I say enjoy rather than eat because to describe processing food as "eating it" is a base oversimplification. "Eating" is a perfunctory action. It is the cold, hard first step to be taken up Maslow's pyramid of needs to keep the machine running.

I need more. Most of us do. It was an evolutionary step taken long ago when man first looked up, bloodied from being face first into the side of a dead animal and thought "some avocado would go great with this". Boom. Just like that, food became a joy to share.

Setting one's eyes on a good burger, pulling in the primal smell of its freshly charred flesh, savouring it slowly, moaning in deep satisfaction with every chew and then punctuating it with a head nodding, squinty-eyed face of approval to the rest of the table. Man, that is tough to beat. 

Of course, not all meals end with applause and that is why I'm here. To help you traverse through the vast culinary landscape; to map the peaks of heaven-sent glory and valleys of thoughtless shit and everything in between.

Join me, then, on my quest to sort through it all and find the most bad-ass grub out there. 

-meathead

(Note: That jaw-dropping piece of sandwich mastery shown above was sent in by my buddy Stevo. Its from a mobile food truck in San Antonio by the name of The Institute of Chili. I'm in Texas next week and eating there is a top priority. Check'em out: http://www.instituteofchili.com/)