Zaks Waterside Grill and Bar, Barrack Street

10 February 2007

Some hangovers only need paracetamol. Even after the lie-in, this one is going to take litres of coffee, orange juice and water, a couple of hours of self-pity/regret, a nap, prescription painkillers, hair of the dog and lots and lots of salt. I remember the exact whisky when this dawned on me, and then necking it anyway. Sometimes being right really sucks.

Rolling out of bed, I look like I’ve been thrown up after a Singapore-Heathrow flight, sitting next to tag-team bawling babies. I spend the next two hours welling up in front of Spiderman 2, clearly more drained and emotionally fraught than the initial diagnosis suggested.

Hangovers like this not only drive otherwise rational adults to McDonald’s, but also turn that Big Mac into the best burger *ever*. There’s a chemical reason for this, I know, but I don’t pretend to understand it. All I know is that I too need hot minced beef.

The options are thus getting washed, dressed and motivated, or staying in my bedclothes and fixing cat-food on toast.

Zaks is off the beaten track and a ten-minute walk from my house. Like Wimpy, they provide real cutlery. Unlike Wimpy, you can get a beer. It’s a no-brainer, which is fortunate, given my current absence of cerebral activity.

Zaks’ shtick is American memorabilia. The main room is arguably more A17 than Route 66, but the conservatory is nice – pleasantly warm and lined with old tin signs. It looks on to the terrace, which looks on to the river and Cow Tower. Even with today’s pizzling mist, it’s a good look.

Zaks’ burgers are all under a tenner. They are gigantic (the cutlery is indispensable). Mine is rare enough to taste the pink. There are more chips than I can possibly eat, but thanks to vulgar gluttony, I still do pretty well (experience recommends avoiding the wedges). My Corona hits the spot.

The service is friendly, helpful and courteous. Anyone expecting fawning ass-kissing will be disappointed. But then again, they shouldn’t be eating in diners in the first place.

Quibbles are negligible: (a) anaemic salad tomatoes (although this is a national problem, not limited to Zaks); and (b) the conservatory lighting is a bit, well, green, and makes a good pink steak look well done. It doesn’t detract from the flavour, but it does take part of the fun out of devouring raw-looking flesh.

Keywords: meat, chips, cutlery.
Eat here: when you’re a bit peaky.