OK, this post is a little bit of an experiment. I’ve been meaning to expand my genre writing, by which I mean, “posting about things other than whatever rant I have parked in the back of my head at the moment.” This, by the way, has nothing to with our friend Lee, who started up a food-and-restaurant blog a couple of months ago and has already managed to score invitations to all sorts of closed-door events they seem to hold just for people who blog about food. Really.
I’ve feared for a while that Ray and I are stuck in a restaurant rut whenever we go out, because, well, we are. So, when I was at Costco last weekend, I discovered the second edition of Fearless Critic’s guide to Austin restaurants, and I decided to buy it because … well, sometimes I’m in the mood for Thai food and pho just won’t serve as a decent substitute. (According to the Guide, the situation is more grave for those seeking Italian.)
Friday evening, Ray had managed to score us tickets to Death Cab for Cutie’s show at Austin Music Hall (and I do mean score – the tix were for the VIP section. Working for evil corporations does sometimes have its perks). After I got home from work, we headed downtown where I similarly managed to score a parking spot at a meter barely three blocks from the venue. For those unfamiliar with Austin, this is in the heart of the Warehouse District, where meters–which stop working at 5:30 pm–are now nearly impossible to find, and most lots and open parking surfaces have been co-opted by the Ethiopian Mafia, which charges a flat rate for the evening that increases by the hour – $5 if you get there early, but as much as $10 or $15 if you try to arrive around peak clubbing time.
Where this is all going is that we wound up stopping for a bite to eat at Hut’s Hamburgers, a local institution that I’ve never actually been to before. We had walked past a series of restaurants overflowed with the Young and the Pretty, not that we don’t enjoy that scene … mainly for the viewing … but we didn’t time our arrival downtown well to have enough time to wait out a table and still get to the show on time. In the midst of a Friday afternoon around 6:45 pm, Hut’s was able to seat us right away.
Perhaps this was a sign. Perhaps it was just because Hut’s doesn’t have a patio or a huge selection of alcoholic beverages beyond beer, and is therefore not a popular destination for after-work Happy Hour.
The place is in what appears to be, for all intents and purposes, an old gas station from the 50′s or 60′s. It’s been a restaurant for several decades, but there’s still something offputting about opening the door to a restaurant that you can’t see inside of. “What am I getting into? Will I be able to leave?” It’s kind of dark inside, and the decor is somewhere between “cute retro” and “hasn’t been cleaned since 1981.”
Hut’s is an unapologetic burger joint, and when you’re at a burger joint you shouldn’t do something stupid, like order a salad. This is fine. Ray and I both ordered burgers, and a basket of fries and rings to split.
The burgers all have cute names. Mine was “The Wolfman Jack,” which comes with too many diced green chiles (canned), sour cream, and bacon that was so limp I could actually fold it. I’m a bit of a bacon purist – if it bends, it ain’t done. Ray ordered “Mr. Blue,” with bleu cheese crumbles, swiss cheese and bacon (and lettuce, although he asked them to hold it, much to the satisfaction of the guy who brought the food out and declared lettuce “green water.”)
One of my basic tests for a restaurant is, “Could I have made this at home?” In the case of the Hut’s burgers, the answer, sadly, was “yes.” I’ve had better hamburgers. Sorry, guys.
The french fries were … well, I could fold them, too. This is not good. Limp, damp fries are the culinary equivalent of the limp, damp handshake.
The bright spot of the meal were the peppered onion rings. I was disappointed to see, when the tray arrived, that there were only four onion rings (there’s always a disappointing onion-ring-to-fry ratio whenever you order a combination order). However, the four that arrived could have been worn as anklets – they were massive, thick, and wonderfully crispy. Ray questioned whether there was too much onion in the onion rings (ha!), but I quite enjoyed them.
Would I go back to Hut’s just for onion rings? Oh yeah. I might be tempted to order another burger, too. After all, Fearless Critic seems to think they’re great (Hut’s is #3 on the list of burger joints of Austin, after Phil’s Ice House — with which I wholeheartedly agree), and Fearless Critic hates everyone.
