El Guero Canelo

I love the food at this place. Breakfast, lunch or dinner. It's all, and I mean all, good.

Lately though, it's become obvious that the Oracle Road location has become little more than a shrine to the restaurant's owner.

First, we have the truck and taco stand outside, complete with informative signs, arranged like retired airplanes out at the Air Force Boneyard.

Inside, lately, the place is eerily devoid of conversation. Why? Well, first, like any modern church, there ain't anybody in there that doesn't work there. Second, the TVs are on at an absolutely absurd volume. And what are they currently playing? Scenes from the life of the prophet. Here's some footage of some guy at the grill, bashing away at a giant pile of meat. And then, for no particular reason, here's our founder, shouting furiously in Spanish.

I have no idea what he's talking about. Largely because of the echo in the place. I'm assuming its some sort of sermon involving the sacrament of grilled skirt steak. Or hot dogs maybe.

There are other signs of an ego completely out of control. The giant baby pictures. Et cetera. The most telling sign, however, might be the utter absence of customers at eight am on a Monday morning. Like church, most people ain't coming to pray unless they need something. And rare indeed, at least in this town, are the moments I need a Guero Canelo burrito when the Chapel of All Things BK's is one street over.

Take note my friend.

Sam Fox Pt. Un--Zin Burger

I like Zin Burger. And you should too.

Zin Burger is the perfect example of something Sam Fox got exactly right. And why? Because the concept is focused. Hip joint, simple menu.

Seared meat. Milkshakes. A salad or two. Beer and wine if you want it.

And what meat! Perfectly done, juicy patties, topped with premium ingredients.

So why isn't Zin Burger Fuddrucker's?

Great question. I mean, it's basically the same concept right? Right. Almost to a T. But what Zin Burger does is a bit of conceptual trickery. It gives you ingredients that sound premium, even if they're really not. Carmelized onions? Please. Sure they're good. Even at TGI Friday's.

But that's not all of it. Because what Sam's peddling here isn't just food. It's a concept. He makes you feel like you're part of something bigger than you are. That's why servers in ties bring you the food. It makes what is, in essence, a burger and fries, feel like something special. And that's not a bad thing. It works. Ambience and atmosphere are as much a part of dining as the food. That's why nothing, nothing, no matter what it is, tastes good in Furr's. Could be gold on a stick. But it's still going to taste like crap. Cause you're in Furr's and it's goddamned depressing. Or you're in Fuddruckers and you can't wait to get out of the place because it's too freaking fake-happy. Note to Fuddruckers: What's with the windows where you butcher the meat? You really think we want to see that? "That's right Jimmy. That's a real honest to goodness, tailend of an abbatoir In other words, this is a midpoint in a cow's life between playing in a field and becoming a good solid bowel movement." Sheesh.

But you could eat anything in Zin Burger, like a burger, fries and milkshake, and believe you're having an extraordinary meal. Which, at base, it isn't. It's just a very good meal. And I have those at Fuddruckers all the time. (Almost all the time.)

That being said, I love Zin Burger. It's where my wife and I go when we're having date night. It makes us feel hip and adult. (And geez, those banana milkshakes are good.) And that's a great thing. And that's what Sam Fox delivers when he's firing on all cylinders. And Zin Burger fies on all eight. Maybe nine.

On another note, what he also delivers, in all of his restaurants, is absolutely smothering service. There is a happy medium between abandonment and intrusiveness. Fox Restaurant Concepts needs to find the middle ground between the two. Jesus. I feel like I've gained a cousin, maybe two cousins I've never met when I go there. And they want money. So they keep complimenting my shoes and asking me if I've lost weight, even though they've never met me. Please. Take it down a couple of notches.