THE OINKSTER 2005 Colorado Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90041
Here we are. Number two on the list. A little the fatter for wear, but, as it happens, have a spot on the east side, near where I live, which, honestly, gives it points on the upfront with a one-two punch of being A) easy to get to, and B) easy to get home from, when, invariably, I’ll have sufficiently stuffed myself with enough red meat and beer to shame myself into hiding from public view. The sammiches available at this joint are easily categorized as “build-a-burgers,” one-half a metric that partner-in-buger, SM, and I have established for scoring. To me, these are the burgers I tend to prefer — diner-style smashburgers worthy of instant onset cardiac arrest.
As a beginning note, now that two burgers are finally up on the leaderboard: when SM and I first decided to go on this foodie adventure, I thought I’d be throwing up 10/10s willy-nilly, like the Katy Perry on American Idol of foodporn review blogs. Truth be told, I’m enamored with burgers, and I possess no real rubric or acumen to write critically about food, so the resolution was that I was probably just going to love ALL THE BEEF. But, sorry not sorry, discerning tastes are forming, burger babies, and this is now where we start to separate the wheat from the chaff.
Or the ground from the sirloin, if you will.
The Oinkster took up occupancy over ten years ago in the former site of a Jim’s Burgers on Eagle Rock’s Colorado Blvd, where it operates Sunday thru Thursday, 11am to 10pm, with an additional hour of operation on Fridays and Saturdays. The retro signage, the A-frame storefront, the proclaimed menu of “slow fast food,” and its significance in the Los Angeles burger festival scene have made it a metropolitan culinary staple.
Right off the tri-tip, this is what I love about the east side: parking is a fucking cinch. Now, SM had a particularly bullshit week, so we were planning on pounding some beers. Since Eagle Rock is close to Los Feliz, as I was saying before, we just hopped a ten minute Lyft ride from my house. If you’re driving, though, the location has a modest parking lot, but unregulated street parking in this hood won’t set you back but a couple trips around the block.
Inside, The Oinkster is counter ordering, so, depending on what time of day you decide to hit it, you’ll probably encounter a line. Use this time to contemplate the gut-buster-of-a-menu, or an array of well-chosen craft brews on draught. The staff is super-friendly, and help make the whole experience a total no-rush. Get your number, find a seat, and prep your lower GI for the oncoming stress test. Since SM and I are on this kick to knock out every burger joint on Eater’s updated 2018 list of LA’s best, ordering a couple of The Oinkster’s famed house specials, The Royale, was unavoidable.
I mean, look at this motherfucking Satan’s cheat day right here. Because The Oinkster specializes in house-cured pastrami — and do a toight sammich of the ilk — the little piggies apparently couldn’t justify a signature burger without their signature meat, so this unholiest of joinings is thusly both burger and pastrami sandwich at once, and, in case you wanted to put off an annual physical for another couple years, IT’S GOT FUCKING CHILI TOO.
My honest hot-take, though? THE ROYALE IS *NOT MY JAM*. Let me say, I really enjoyed the experience of going to The Oinkster. Like I said, it’s a super chill joint in a throwback spot with a dope staff, and the surrounding hood is popping. Also, the tap beer selection is absolutely ace and the fries are great, but this beast-of-a-burger, The Royale, was just too much. The components of it are prepared to all exceptional standards, but, like, so are the components of a Colt .45 but I don’t want to eat that, either. No, this burger is like a Real Housewives marathon. It’s like more than one Domino’s Pizza coupon code on a single order. It’s me trying to fit in with my 7th grade flag football team.
JUST. TOO. MUCH.
My distinct burger fascination notwithstanding, currently holding the majority stokehold in my ambition for 2018, I’ve always loved burgers. Who doesn’t love burgers? Burgers are so wantable, even vegans got scientists up in a lab trying to suss out how to make a burger they can eat. But, man, I just feel bad for The Royale. It’s trying so hard. I just want to say, “Be a burger,” and then hug it and hug it and hug it until we go full Good Will Hunting, and it’s like, I’M OK YOU’RE OK WE’RE OK LET’S EAT.
Partner-in-burger, SM, was also not a fan of The Royale, but, like I said, he’d had a tough week, so maybe his tastebuds were informed by mood. In any case, I think The Royale ends up on the leaner side of both our “out-of-10” rating scales, which is surprising for a dish that serves up with so much fucking meat. He gave it 4/10.
The Oinkster is a perfect local joint, theoretically. And as I further explore the unobtrusive fabulousness that is Eagle Rock, I won’t say I’d never wander back through the A-frame for a beer and to wrestle with one of their famed pastrami sandwiches. But also, like Jules in Pulp Fiction, this brush with death has shaken my countenance, so gimme my wallet and I’ll be on my way. — 6/10