The opening of Shake Shack has been eerily quiet save for a queue of twenty on the opening morning and the occasional Instagram post informing the world that they had eaten a free burger without offering an opinion. I don’t get it. Maybe they don’t have an opinion, or, more likely, they are waiting for my opinion to lend from. Maybe they are scared of saying it’s good given their relationships with other burger places in the city, purely for eating, or maybe in a professional capacity. The blogger’s favourite work is often social media management. Some burgers pay, others don’t. I can only assume that Shake Shack doesn’t.

I nearly didn’t bother going. I do the Shake Shack burger run too often in London. It is there when I need a quick lunch, or I’m worried that lunch is going to be a bit shit, or the occasions that lunch has been a bit shit and I’m still hungry. I like them. The burger is simple and well executed, it’s like a more glamorous version of the greatest sandwich in the world – the Big Mac – only without that weird bready nonsense in the middle.

So it bothers me to say I like them considerably less in the depressing food court of Grand Central. Maybe it’s the sense of occasion, but I’m generally a lot more fun in London because I’m being paid more than I do here to have considerably more fun, but it was all a bit, well, shit. Shit to the point that I considered a second burger elsewhere to make up for shit lunch. This feels like the matrix. The burgers were drier than I remember, the bun dense like a Love Island All Star. Even with the addition of ale onions and ShackSauce on the ShackMeister it feels done a million times better elsewhere. Maybe one week into service they just hadn’t mastered it. Maybe this is what it always tastes like when you take away the Termini negroni or the one sip martinis at Tayer.

The rest is equally forgettable. Crinkle chips with congealed cheese sauce, chicken nuggets that are just about warm enough in the centre to not have me worried, a honey mustard dip that can join Papa John’s garlic butter in hell. The bill of £36 is not a fortune, but as I’ve said a million times here, Birmingham is blessed with great burgers. Really great burgers. I feel a bit sad writing this. Absolutely brilliant malted vanilla milkshake though.

5/10