Burgers helped lure me to
Cape Town. For a few months I couldn’t decide if I should go (in fact I was definitely not going), but with ten days to go, the temptation of
Bruce Springsteen concerts, sunshine and big juicy burgers was all too much for me to handle.
One of the burger places that kept popping up to convince me to
F**k It and go to Cape Town was a place called
The Dog’s Bollocks. According to many locals, these are the number one burgers in the city. The ones I had to try. I was told that The Dog’s Bollocks opens at 5pm and flips 50 burgers a day. Past that number 50, no more burgers are made. It’s ruthless.
For this reason I meticulously planned my non Springsteen concert day in Cape Town on the basis that I needed to arrive at ‘The Yard’ of The Dog’s Bollocks at 4.45pm, to ensure I would be allocated a burger.
Despite my best efforts, unfortunately, maybe predictably, I got completely lost. I wandered around in circles with my map, and as the minutes ticked on I started to perspire with anxiety. Pacing around the city I soon found myself hindered not only my my poor navigational skills, but the “will I get there in time” panic was making my flipflops so slippery. The stress of being lost, and late, meant I had sweated to the point that the bottom of my feet wouldn’t grip my stupid sandals, and I was sliding around the streets getting nowhere fast, trying to get my plastic Havaianas to stay close to my damp skin. Of course this slowed my progress, and I found myself in a vicious circle of nervousness of not getting my burger, combined with clammy feet, coupled with a number of wrong turns and an unhelpful lack of taxis in the nearby area. In a desperate situation, I decided to do something I never do when I travel. I slid into a hotel, pretended to be a guest, and asked them to call me a taxi.
Ten minutes later I pulled up on Roodehek Street, the home of The Dog’s Bollocks. After days fantasising about these burgers my excitement levels were high, but on entering the alleyway, my heart sank. There, poised and waiting behind the counter were too pretty girls. Stunning in fact. The kind of girls with beauty so bright that they make you blush and stutter, your palms sweating as you question for a second whether you might be a bit of a lesbian, or maybe bisexual at the very least. If I was a boy I would have made some feeble attempt to flirt. Instead I just stuttered through my order.
But that’s not why my heart sank. No, that would be weird. My heart sank because all I could think was this: Can I really trust a girl to make me a burger?
There’s no need to remind me that I am a girl. I eat burgers, I claim to know a lot about them. But for some reason, some idiot has infiltrated his ridiculous thoughts into my brain and I’ve been left with a hint of doubt that I can trust a girl with a stomach that flat to make a big dobber of a burger. Terrible isn’t it.
On first inspection my gut instinct was somewhat right. I’ve never seen a burger quite like it. Big. Ginormous. Without a doubt the largest burger I’ve ever seen. That’s all good. But what is
that? It’s not the normal sprinkling of shredded green leaves, but instead there is a whole lettuce dumped on the bun. Yes, there is a bun under there. Who loves salad that much. Am I wrong to say that only a skinny pretty girl would do that to a burger? Because that’s what I was thinking.
I wasn’t put off though, it intrigued me. Heavy – a half pound beef patty submerged in the greenery, with mayo artfully squirted on the lid, and tomatoes, rings of raw onion and perhaps controversially, cucumber. I ripped off the excess lettuce around the edges, neatening the patty and bun combo into something more recognisable and compact.
Divine. In my haste to order I had gone safe with the ‘3B burger’ – bacon, cheese, BBQ, but it was an excellent choice.
The bun was pillow soft and bouncy and the patty, despite my doubts, was cooked perfectly – a real smokey flavour and blushed pink on the inside. Rich gooey slices of cheese and streaky, super crispy bacon were crossed delicately on top.
Gloriously messy, dripping out onto the wrapper, through the paper, through the wire mesh table and onto my feet, I found myself completely covered in burger, juice running to places burger juice has never ventured before. I mopped my brow, my face, my feet and made my way through one of the biggest and best burgers I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating, with the Bar Rockin’ Blues radio station helpfully drowning out my groans of delight.
I was full up by the time I got to the rest of the lettuce.
If you’re ever heading to Cape Town (and I insist you do), put these burgers on your ‘to do’ list.
Essential info:
Price: 70 SA rand (approx £3.90) – bargain
Location: The Yard, 6 Roodehek Street. Get there for 5pm or you might be disappointed!
Transport: It’s easy to walk about, get the CitiBus (you need to buy a travel card no cash allowed) or if you get sweaty feet like me get a taxi, it’s cheap
Accommodation: There’s loads of lovely boutique hotels in Cape Town, or if you’re on more of a budget my favourite website it
AirBnB
Flights:
Virgin Atlantic have direct flights to Cape Town, and there’s only a two hour time difference meaning no jet lag – dreamy!
Here are the links if you want to check out my Springsteen in South Africa blog posts:
