Tel.: 284-6555 .
 That Girl is in search of a stellar hamburger. A half dozen places come to mind in Vancouver that could satisfy a salty, meaty, fatty craving (Cactus Club, Earls on Broadway … even White Spot is pretty great if you’re in the right mood).
So I went to Newtown (lounge), the famous restaurant on Crescent Street owned by Jacques Villeneuve (his last name roughly translates in English to “new city” or “new town”). It’s a fancy building with fancy expectations. You should know that I only entered at street level and stayed right there in the lounge. There are other floors. I expect the prices increase as you go up the stairs.
The lounge is a lovely space with huge windows, filled with young professionals in dress pants and shirts fresh from the drycleaners. The atmosphere is chrome and wood with some tall tables with high stools for perching (this is where I’m seated) and by the windows there are some low slung chairs around round coffee tables. My table is in fact the worst one in the house, right by the kitchen, and the overhead lighting in the lounge is too bright. Must be because I’m alone. And because I’m not wearing a dress.
I start with the complimentary oyster crackers in a dish on my table; I eat them all before my first drink arrives (glass of Heineken, not a pint, $7). I have a freakishly handsome waiter with glowing pale blue eyes and a dancer’s body. He maybe makes up for the price of the beer.
I order a hamburger with grilled onions that promises to be served on a poppy seed bun ($11). OK, it is served on the bun, this much is true. But something has happened to the burger. It’s much too small for the bun and is completely burnt on one side. I didn’t have my camera with me, but if I did, the picture would speak for itself. Imagine: stack of matchstick fries which are spontaneously cold, a bun that is faintly yellow in colour that is 50% too large for the burger (which aside from being burnt, is too small, about the size and height of my computer mouse, tall in the middle, would fit nicely in the palm of my hand). The grilled onions, tomato, cheese, bacon, unadvertised mushrooms, and grainy mustard do nothing to give this burger any taste whatsoever. I have to ask for salt.
Now, I must redeem the place by saying that at 8 pm, when the sleek crowd has left, the staff dims the florescent glare and the bar glows a beautiful golden light. But by then the cool kids had left.— reviewed byShelley MacDonald
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