Aside from my usual manic opening rife with hyperbole and conjecture, there is the simpler side to me (perhaps because I am drunk on burger) that is tempted to just write NOM. Copy and paste those three letters a few hundred times and you have all the description and motivation you need to visit this Smith St burger production line.
First, we need to address the address that is Smith St, the latest Hipster Hub. With a gradual immersion of eateries that encourage the loitering of bright young beautiful types such as Huxtable, Grumpy’s, Josie Bones, Gigibaba, this strip has become downright congested. So much is this immigration of hipster that when you walk down this sidewalk strip on any given night, it is so populated you will need your elbows armed and hip cocked - the last being for appearances sake as you’ll need to fit in. Even more so if you are to penetrate the line that is Huxtaburger. This narrow slice of burger making real estate is a finely tuned off shoot of Huxtable that churns out brioche bunned, Moondara Wagyu-ed, Cosby named burger goodness. The line is ridiculous but the burgers are ridiculously good.
The menu is simple and the ingredients and formula well established but the end product far exceeds your expectations. The Huxtaburger (and the THEO, which is double the size with BBQ sauce) is a current staple on my food pyramid (I think my pyramid is actually bottoming out and is more like a food blob with a pointy hat). It reads like a fast food TV spot: beef pattie, mustard, mayo, tomato sauce, tomato, cheese, lettuce pickles (sing song: on a sesame seed bun). This is unashamedly unhealthy. The brioche sesame seed bun is dripping in butter as it is seared on the grill and the wagyu similarly shines, some say grease, I say sparkling like a beautiful diamond. The chips are crinkled and crispy but don’t be distracted by them. This stomach space could be used to sample some of the other burgers like Bills that adds bacon, egg, pineapple & beetroot or the Denise with jalapenos and sriracha mayo. And to cap it off, you can swig on beer and Medhurst wines while simultaneously increasing your cholesterol levels.
Speaking of drinks, we also ventured past the unassuming door next to the Huxtaburger fridge, escaping the bustle and finding ourselves in Bill’s Bar, a soothing speakeasy dimly lit with the incandescent glow of candles on intimate tables. Hello time travel, I knew you existed. At first the only patrons and smugly thinking that we had stumbled upon this time bubble before this secret went viral, we sipped our wine at our leisure. Soon, much like the rest of Smith, Bill’s was at capacity. We elbowed our way out and then elbowed our way past the human blockage that is Huxtaburger’s patronage and only began breathing again when we bolted down a side street. I say bolted which wrongly gives the impression that we were moving quickly – I should have said hobbled. Or... crippled by digestion and drunkenness. NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM. Poetry.
106 Smith Street
Collingwood VIC 3066
(03) 9417 6328