The Flying Boar Burger at The Flying Boar
You best be quick, and I mean quick, because this place isn’t here for long. Open until just the 3rd of May, the Flying Boar is the brainchild of 2 incredibly talented chefs who due to popular demand were forced to reopen their doors after their initial stint earlier this year.
It is however with great dismay that I update you on my own personal developments. Following a visit to the Flying Boar earlier this week, I have had to delete the word ‘delicious’ from my vocabulary due to its inherent inadequacy in describing the burger I experienced there. On few occasions before has an establishment of such humble existence been capable of producing a unit comparable to its major competitors. Even the previous title holder, the name of which for legal reasons cannot be disclosed, but I can confirm that it rhymes with Shmoyale Shmeatery, and is located opposite Fiction in Cape Town’s Long Street, exudes a certain amount of arrogance. It goes to show, there is no ‘I’ in burger, but ‘I’ was in the Boar last night and it is this encounter which I desire to share with the world.
Upon the beast’s arrival, any attention I had been giving the guests at my table was snatched away and drawn immediately to the bun: a dark, visibly dense and crispy variation of the foundation on which all burgers are required to be built. An oral examination further boosted the loaf’s appeal, for its texture flowed smoothly and hints of sweetness littered it’s glorious flavour.
It was the boldness of another strategy which drew me in further to a fantasy world I had previously never considered existed. The patty, a lavishly basted device, was cooked medium - nay - rare, a method which enhances the flavourful juiciness of its grass-fed nature. SUDDENLY - the creamy aroma of gorgonzola has entered the area separating the oral and nasal cavities, more affectionately known as the palate. Its delicate touch unleashes a plethora of emotions, reminiscent of my time in ‘Nam but with a more positive lasting effect.
There were other run of the mill accoutrements: avo, bacon, pickle, tomato, all seemingly purpose-engineered to suit the flavour of the base ingredients. However, the coup de grace, as it were, was without doubt the truffle aioli, a careful infusion of the decadent fungi and a mayonnaise whipped by an industrially trained whipper.
I must stress the speed at which you must accelerate yourself towards this burger joint before it closes its doors for good. Wash down the wondrous creation with a CBC lager and make sure you come hungry.
