814 Traction Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90013
I remember when Give Up by the Postal Service came out. I was a sophomore in high school. It was before winter formal. That particular winter formal was to be a rare triumph for me in the romance department. I took one of the prettiest and most popular girls in the freshman class. Unfortunately, as it turned out 1) I wasn’t very attractive (please indulge my optimistic use of the past tense), 2) she was out of my league, 3) I’m inveterately and painfully awkward, and 4) teenagers are a heartless sort.
The result: she bolted as soon as we arrived, and spent the entire evening with confident, attractive junior alpha males who played sports and got bad grades. Meanwhile, I, the archetypal beta male, sat on a bench staring into a swimming pool, waiting for high school to end, and playing various tracks from Give Up in my head to pass the time. This admittedly depressing scene was interrupted when I was rescued by my friend David and his date Sara (incidentally, about halfway through “Clark Gable”).
I still wonder why that album came into my head, especially considering my tortured relationship with it. I hated to like Give Up. See, some Death Cab for Cutie fans were nervous when Give Up dropped (these were the Sub Pop days, when Death Cab fans were less numerous and more proprietary than today’s breed). Publicly, we worried side projects portend artistic restlessness, or worse, stagnation, that they threaten to reveal a beloved artist reduced to repackaging old ideas instead of presenting new ones.
Privately though, we’d admit that our real issue wasn’t artistic; it was that side projects have the whiff of infidelity. Death Cab fans liked to envision Ben Gibbard poring over ragged spiral notebooks scribbling the lyrics to the next “A Lack Of Color,” not seeking new modes of expression. Him having another band felt like a betrayal.
What an odd feeling. It’s not as if I didn’t love Ben Gibbard just because Give Up came out. It’s just that the release of Give Up made me face all facets of that love, even the ugly ones: affection, loyalty, fear (of change and of loss), comfort, complacency, possessiveness, jealousy. The only thing more frightening than watching someone you love change is the prospect of getting left behind somewhere along the way. So I listened, with layered trepidation.
I find these feelings have survived in me, and they resurfaced again recently when Neal Fraser diverted his attention from Redbird to give Fritzi the full sit-down restaurant treatment. When Fritzi became something more than a whimsical pop-up or a window at Arts District Brewing, that familiar proprietary jealousy, that envious dogma of mine, was impossible to escape, even though culinary side projects often work out just fine.
The Order: Fritzi Burger
The Price: $11.50
Maybe you’ve never heard of Fritzi. It would be hard to fault you, actually. It first surfaced as a pop-up, then soft-opened as a practically nameless take-out window nestled in a corner of Arts District Brewing, where everyone from the merely buzzed to the blacked out could partake in some high-class, high-carb hangover prophylaxis. The only signage to speak of was a large marquee above the window that glowingly admonished all passers-by: “DON’T FORGET TO EAT.”
By the time Fritzi actually opened a dining room directly next door to Arts District Brewing (serviced by the same kitchen as the take-out window; the two spaces are less adjacent than they are interlocked), it would have been easy to not notice. There was almost no fanfare; besides, we’d been eating off that menu for months.
But Fritzi commands attention. It is the brainchild of Neal Fraser, who ranks among the most deadly serious chefs in the city. The fare is fast-food inspired and fundamentally uncomplicated.With quintessentially Arts District pretentiousness (i.e., trying far too hard to project a laid-back, industrial Bohemian charm), Fritzi will tell you they serve “artisanal nosh.” That means no of-the-moment crudo, no robust and hearty braised goat gemelli, and – sadly – no peri-eponymous (I can’t resist making the epunymous joke) tray of veal.
Nothing here is a signature dish. This is an off-duty project, a glimpse at what Neal Fraser might make at a cookout – nothing too high-minded…but, well, he’s still Neal Fraser. As such, expect sophisticated, subtly reimagined classics.
The Fritzi Burger is, for lack of a better term, so Fraser. Each component of the conventional burger is rethought, elevated. This burger offers a hybrid patty (Nueske bacon and beef) that is given ample (viz., nine hours) sous vide time; a generous smear of Fontina fondue which offers a gooey, honeyed nuttiness; a sweet Calabrese relish with a whisperingly slow-hot finish; a fresh salve of mild thousand island; and iceberg lettuce to add cooling textural contrast.
The patty is a masterstroke, a subtle, intensely flavorful execution of an idea that sounds excellent in theory but often is butchered grotesquely in practice. The Nueske bacon imparts a smoky, marbled dimension to the beef, evoking the faintest thoughts of a Texan barbecue pit. The fondue creates a sumptuous, almost silken coating around the patty, mild and comforting. Both sauces are excellent, and work well enough in concert with one another. They offer a few redundant notes, but ultimately elevate the entire experience. I was glad for the lettuce, if only because it offered a bit of complexity in a burger that otherwise verges on textural monotony.
While Fraser excels in reimagining individual ingredients, he sometimes almost loses sight of the forest for the trees. It’s fine to reshape each piece of a puzzle, especially if you improve each one; but change them enough, and they won’t fit together.
In the case of the Fritzi Burger, that’s just a distant threat – this burger hangs together well, never veering into incoherence. But it also is a mildly unsettling dish, because – as a whole – it doesn’t always feel completely intentional. But existential niggling aside, this burger is stellar, not to be missed, and yet another shining example in a litany of Neal Fraser’s innovative genius.
Ultimately, no matter how rabid a Death Cab fan I was, I listened to Give Up. I couldn’t help myself. In my more honest moments, I recognize it as a superior product to solidly (maybe conservatively) 85% of Death Cab for Cutie’s oeuvre. But even short of that admission, I know I put aside my feelings of betrayal on behalf of Gibbard’s bandmates because I wanted to understand what was compelling enough to divert his creative focus. I didn’t really listen because I wanted to. I listened because I had to.
So if you felt similar vicarious betrayal when Chef Fraser took time away from Redbird to launch Fritzi, you probably also feel a similar morbid curiosity regarding what Fritzi is all about. Succumb to it. This burger may not be better than 85% of the menu at Redbird, but it is too good to be missed owing to proprietary hipster envy.
Flavor: 9.60 / 10.00
Freshness/Quality: 10.00 / 10.00
Value: 9.00 / 10.00
Efficiency: 8.40 / 10.00
Creativity/Style: 10.00 / 10.00
Bun: 8.40 / 10.00
Patty: 10.00 / 10.00
Toppings: 8.10 / 10.00
Sauce: 8.70 / 10.00
Balance: 8.90 / 10.00
Total: 91.10 / 100.00
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