The Travel Critic

One of the more joyful quirks of the modern food scene is the democratisation of dining. These days, a tattooed bloke in a shipping container can slap a patty between two buns and win more awards than Raymond Blanc. Pizza slingers, burger flippers, taco hustlers – they’ve muscled their way into the culinary conversation, and thank God. Who needs the linen-starched, whisper-toned tyranny of Michelin when you can eat a meal standing up with chip grease trickling down your forearm?

And so, to Fatto, the much-fêted burger merchant tucked inside the rather chaotically charming Stag and Hounds pub in Bristol. If you spend even three minutes on Bristol FoodTok, or whatever we’re calling it this week, you’ll have seen it: the slo-mo cheese pull, the oozing sauce, the unshaven critic chewing with the reverence of a man discovering religion in a bap. Multi-award-winning, they say. Best burger in Bristol, others chant, like it’s a football anthem.

Well.

I finally went. After months – years, perhaps – of hearing the hype echo around Gloucester Road and Clifton, I made the pilgrimage. Walked in with stomach rumbling, expectations soaring, ready to have my mind blown and my arteries clogged in glorious fashion.

And what I got… was a burger.

A bog-standard, slightly soggy, aggressively average burger.

It wasn’t bad, per se. The bun was soft, toasted, clearly of the fancy brioche genus. The patty was thick-ish, cooked to an acceptable medium (just), but dry – as if someone had drained it of joy before slapping it down. The cheese was there. It existed. But it didn’t melt, it just sort of sat, like a disinterested house cat, vaguely judging me.

Fries? Also fine. Crispy enough. Salted like a driveway in February.

But the whole thing – the entire experience – felt like being promised a wild night with Margot Robbie and ending up with a half-hearted cuddle from your mum’s mate Carol. You know, nice enough. But not what you queued up for.

Maybe it was the hype. Maybe it was the endless stream of social media mouth-breathers filming themselves like they’ve just discovered foie gras in a burger van. Maybe I went on an off night. Or maybe – just maybe – it’s the sobering truth that no amount of awards, likes, shares, or gooey slow-mo cheese shots can elevate a merely decent burger into the pantheon of greatness.

Is it the best burger in Bristol? Not on that showing. Is it even top ten? Only if you’re new in town and easily impressed.

Still, lovely pub. Pint was spot on.