Restaurant review: Dach & Sons

Dogs with no bite, says Richard Godwin
1/2
4 November 2012

WHEN poor people gorge on carbs and cholesterol, it’s a social problem. When middle-class hipsters do the same, it’s the height of fashion. Dach & Sons, a gourmet hot dog place in Hampstead, is the latest venue to serve bling junk to the vintage T-shirt crowd. Four weeks after its opening, it is doing a roaring trade.

The idea is to replicate the experience of snacking at a Reno funfair in more sanitary conditions (white tiles, brickwork, old Coke ads). As with the trend-setting MEATliquor — and also McDonald’s — there is a strict no bookings policy. As with MEATliquor — but not McDonald’s — there is kitchen roll on the tables and nothing green on the menu save dill pickles, which are deep-fried into a sort of redneck tempura. Still, the meat is supplied by the Hampstead Butcher, so it is theoretically better for you.

We arrived early, because when I pay for dinner I do not want to stand in a queue for an hour. As it happened, we had time to soften our gullets at Purl, a fine cocktail bar upstairs, which, annoyingly, is under different management so you can’t take your food up or your drinks down. Still, even downstairs there is a decent a range of craft beers and a fine mint julep, too. It proved just the thing for cutting through the fat.

From the dogs and burgers, I opted for the signature Dachsund (£8), a beef wiener protruding from a pert little sub, garnished with sauerkraut and ketchup. It was a 12-step sausage. When I first bit into the casing, the bursting sensation of smoky, salty fat drew a moan of gratification. The second bite forced me to confront its worrying, loose texture. By the third or fourth bite, I was powerless to stop, even though it was by now reminiscent of sucking out the contents of a fisherman’s tackle box from a verruca sock. I have since gone through remorse, acceptance, etc, and now remember that sausage only with a sad shudder.

As a vegetarian (I know, I know), my wife had only one choice, mac ’n’ cheese (£8), which she found gloopy and over-rich. All the sides (£4) were aggressively meated, with bacon in the beans and chips cooked in beef dripping. Presumably, they don’t offer a nice crisp green salad as that would be gay. The last time I had a dinner of sausage, chips and beans I was about 13, and even then my mum would have made me have some token broccoli.

Hampstead clearly loves Dach & Sons. By the time the evening sun was glinting in the puddles of pork fat, a queue had formed. Four obnoxious males were arguing with the manager, wondering why they couldn’t have a cocktail upstairs first; pork and beef were flying out of the kitchen. It is weird, this meat mania. It seems that as long as the chavs are priced out, the middle classes seem happy to cram junk in their gobs. At least until the meat-sweats hit — at around the 20-minute mark, by my watch.

68 Heath Street, NW3 (020 7433 8139, dachandsons.com). A meal for two with beer about £40

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