The Alb, Shrewsbury - food review

Lollipop, lollipop. Oooh, lolly, lolly, lolly. Lollipop.

If there's one thing I didn't want to eat when I visited The Alb, in Shrewsbury, it was a lollipop.

Because although we're celebrating all things Yankee Doodle Dandy, and although lollipops are thought to have been invented during the American Civil War; the last thing fans at Super Bowl LI in Houston, Texas, will be eating is lollipops. They'll be tucking into burgers, burnt ends, dirty dogs and popcorn.

And yet, much to my surprise, three big, fat, sticky-uppy lollipops were presented to me like a kid in a sweetshop when my food arrived on a quiet midweek evening.

Bad lollipop. Naughty lollipop. Go back to the kitchen, get back in the fridge and send out your friend, chicken popcorn. She's the one that I want.

While I'd ordered chicken popcorn as a starter the waitress had heard 'chicken lollipop', which sounds nothing like 'popcorn'. And so rather than tiny little nugget pieces of chickeney badness, I was presented with three swirls of pan-fried meat on a stick. Ever felt confused? Ever felt ever so slightly disappointed? Ever felt like you're back at school and your mum has put tuna mayo sandwiches into your lunchbox instead of strawberry jam?

The point at which the wrong food arrives at the right table is usually the point at which the customer beckons the waitress and returns their unwanted lollipop.

However, in the case of The Alb, I'd waited so darned long for my starter that I was famished. And so, trepidatiously, I tucked into the meaty things on sticks. I wished I hadn't. The lollipops comprised circles of compressed chicken that had been wrapped in streaky bacon and pan-fried. And if that sounds greasy, it was. It was Exxon Valdez on a plate.

The lollipops were served with a peanut and creamed cheese sauce. And if that makes you want to go 'euuch', or 'no way, José', you'd be right. They were awful. Peanuts, cream cheese and lollipops made from fatty bacon and fried chicken = fatty, greasy food.

Crisp, light, golden popcorny things equals fun times and perfect for Super Bowl LI.

The lollipops, incidentally, were gross. The fat on the streaky bacon wasn't tanned or golden brown: it was just plain fatty. Allied to a lipid-heavy dip, it was a pointless exploration of needless, unattractive calories. I hope to never eat anything like them again. But I wouldn't mind a cheeky little plate of chicken popcorn – that sounds great.

Burgers were next. After all, is there a more American food than a beef patty wedged in a starchy bun and pimped within an inch of its life with cheese, bacon, sauces, pickles, lettuce and anything else that the chef might choose to add? I opted for The Classic, a proper beef burger topped with smoked cheese, caramelised onion and bacon in a brioche bun. It was brilliant. It was phenomenal. I want to head right back to The Alb right now and eat another five. And then I can be just like Elvis in Vegas and sing at Super Bowl LII. I Can't Help Falling In Love (with The Alb's Classic). It's Always On My Mind. I've got a Burning Love for Your Burgers . . . Oh, you get the picture.

There's something special about great burgers, some sort of mysterious alchemy that is known to only a few. The ingredients are usually simple: beef, bread, salad, sauce and a slice of this and that. And yet when chefs get it right, the heavens open and the angels sing. The Alb's burger was scorched on the outside, so that it was a little crunchy and crisp, and yet the innards were moist and indulgently juicy. The sauces dribbled messily over the edge of the burger; like all the best, most-over-loaded burgers should. The cheese was fantastic – no fake plastic cheese (is that a Radiohead song?): it was real food for real people with hearty appetites. And the bacon – unlike the ghastly lollipops – was nicely cooked so that it added a salty, sweet edge. Brilliant. Burgers all round. And don't skip the pickles.

The Alb doesn't just do burgers. It's all-American menu also focuses on dogs, wings, mac'n'cheese balls, BBQ, sweet potato fries, zesty cobs of corn and pit beans with 'kick a$$' beans and bacon. Bosh. You could raise the Confederate Flag in there and nobody would notice.

The bar is also impressive, with gins, rums, an absurdly good range of whiskeys and enough cocktails to keep the mixologist busy 'til Kingdom Come. And though the waitress messed up on popcorn/lollipops – and I feel her pain now, as she reads this – she was, in fact, brilliant. We all make mistakes and hers made me laugh . . . eventually. And for the rest of the night, she was sensational. Her service was, without hyperbole or exaggeration, the best I've enjoyed at a non-fine-dining restaurant in the past 12 months. She made eye contact every time she visited the table, she engaged and made polite conversation, she was warm and smiley, charming throughout. Though she made a simple mistake, her service was, in fact, the reason why The Alb climbed from a three to a four on star rating. Good work, Mrs Waitress Lady.

The kitchen was decent. It makes a mean burger and the fries were to die for. As thin as matchsticks, crunchier than deep-fried breadcrumbs, more golden than the sand at Cape Cod – and that's really, really, really golden – they were terrific; the best in town. The chef was a little slow, however: both courses took too long to deliver, but the burger and fries were worth the wait. The Alb is popular with Shrewsbury's youngish groovers, hip cocktail-drinking party-types and others who love decent food, sensational service and a sophisticated range of drinks. And it deserves to be. It's improved since it opened: the food is a little edgier and tasty and the service is much, much better. Of course, there's always room for further improvement. The chef could be more organised so that the wait isn't quite so long, but it's generally in very good shape and warrants a recommendation.

Competition to make Shrewsbury's best burger is intense. Brooklyn Craft does a pretty good job and also offers really good fries, Havana Republic serves deliciously beefy burgers made from Great Berwick Organics meat while Porterhouse does a decent job too.

If we were playing a game of Rate Yer Burgers – and it's a new game that we've just invented – The Alb would be in the top two in town. Its toasted brioche buns were great, the whistles and bells jingle and jangle and the fries are unsurpassed. The venue's hipper than a Lady Gaga halftime gig and service is great. Result.

By Andy Richardson