Flipper's

9th and Judah

A trip to the Inner Sunset seemed in order, as I had some leftover chicken and a can of beans to reclaim from a recent kick-ass barbecue. I met up with my partner in crime. We were both hungry and meat was distinctly on our minds. The said associate suggested the recently opened Flipper's.

Now I must admit to a certain bias on my part from the get-go. Before the legacy of Flipper's, a delightful little coffeehouse had existed by the name of Jammin' Java that had a cool little patio area, that had never been filled with too many obnoxious people, and was one of the finer gathering places for caffeine-oriented slacking in the 9th and Judah area.

I knew things were fishy when the price of coffee went up a quarter. Then, without warning, Jammin' Java was "closed for remodeling." After seeing a ladder that had not moved in there for about two months, a new sign was put up: COMING SOON! FLIPPER'S!

To say the least, I was embittered. But I learned to live with it.

The venom shot from our tongues as my friend and I recounted the history of this cruel joke. I may have turned over a random newsrack but, in all honesty, I don't really remember.

But we decided to give Flipper's a shot. Upon entering, we were surprised at how badly the old place had made the transition. The patio had disappeared, replaced by a rather boring looking floor with about six or seven faux formica tables stretched over the open space not covered by the grill. The setup of the place was not a success.

The sole piece of plant life was a vase of rotting flowers by the cash register. A ridiculously-placed aquarium was set up against one of the blue walls. Behind the grill was a strange flag consisting of evenly colored stripes, the purpose of which was to presumably create an international aura. Several bland-looking chairs were placed neatly around each table, the colors badly attempting to coordinate themselves with the flag.

But the truly scary element was a giant menu shaped hanging in the back shaped in an Orwellian palette. Several miniature versions of this are given out to customers.

We quickly began to realize that there was a danger in eating in a place like this. A restaurant that specialized in an artsy layout gone awry and the misnomer of "gourmet burgers" truly was confused with its purpose. But we had to confront the need to cope with change. So we looked at the menus. Most of the burgers were $5.25 a piece, but that didn't include fries. That was just the burger. Then there was the sneaky notion of adding $1.00 to your burger if you wanted chicken, turkey, a garden patty or tofu instead of red meat.

But if you're going into a burger place without the intention of eating a form of beef, then you're missing the point of what burgers are all about.

Flipper's seemed to miss the point as well.

There were several international "grommet burgers" called World Flippers on the menu that had dubious ties to their respective countries. A Taste of Russia was Russian for its mushrooms, onions and Swiss cheese.

The Madrid Stop was Spanish because of its tomatoes. Diced beets and bleu cheese put the Copenhagen in Copenhagen Way.

We ordered. The server asked us if we wanted anything to drink.

I told her a water would be lovely.

"Just water?" She could sense that I was a poorass. I was clearly out of my league here. Or was I?

There were three forms of mustard on each table: Grey Popoun, Gulden's and French's. I stuck with the French's. The Grey Popoun was at one point overturned during the course of the burger consummation. I had a major problem with the fries. While it was $2 for a basket, they had all the taste and texture of baking Ore-Ida in the oven. Their texture was as lacking as the setup of the restaurant.

The burgers, however, came out relatively quickly. My Papa Flip came to me in a pool of barbecue sauce, which seemed to go against the gourmet burger idea. However, I wasn't about to eat the sucker with a fork and knife. I must admit that the bacon was giant and crisp, but the meat wasn't all that spectacular -- nothing that you couldn't whip up with a bunch of ground chuck at home.

For all the fuss over "gourmet burgers," you'd think Flipper's would have the balls to incorporate the exotic elements effectively into their burgers. No such luck.

My compadre's A Taste of Russia didn't really have any taste in it all except the patty itself. But Flipper's defining moment came when I spilled my water. Perhaps it was a simple act of clumsiness on my part or perhaps it was a truly allegorical moment. Needless to say, despite the fact that I went directly up to the grill asking for a new plate and more napkins, the staff thought nothing of it, staring directly at our table as we cleaned up the mess. By the time the mess was cleaned up, they had finally come around. But I suspect it had something to do with the cook noticing me looking around and writing in my notebook.

Truly, Flipper's was a strange anomaly.

We were convinced by the brevity of burger taste that they were a franchise and, sure enough, they are. There are two other Flipper's: one in Hayes Valley and the other in Oakland. But it's hardly worth the cash or the trouble or even the novelty of laughing at a place that believes in "gourmet burgers." Especially when you have a whole bunch of chicken you're taking home.

Edward Champion

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