The Bucket

The Bucket, a rickety old shack on Eagle Rock Blvd., has been serving up hamburgers since 1935. This whole place could fit inside my living room. There's space for maybe three or four bar stools. The rest of you bums have to eat out on the covered patio filled with all variety of tables, benches and counters. The patio feels like the garage of a frat house decorated with sun-bleached Budweiser promotional items from the 80's. A roll of paper towels sits in a bucket on each table.

I chose a particularly hot August day to sit outside in the sun and eat a huge burger. Not the most comfortable dining experience. When it's not too hot, the patio would be a great place to knock back a few draught beers with a group of friends. Unfortunately, I don't have any friends. But, if I did, I would suggest we all go over to All Star Lanes and bowl a few rounds after our burgers. Then my friends would probably say "Well, bowling is kind of lame". And then I'd say "well, fuck you guys, I'm going bowling!"

Bottom Line: Hamburgers very good. French Fries very bad. And the hamburgers are huge! They're so big that after I ate here, my doctor had to put me on Crestor. Seriously, I went for my check-up the day after I ate here, and my cholestoral was sky-rocketing at a combined level of 286. Coincidence ? Maybe. But then looking at all the places I have eaten over the last month, it really comes as no surprise does it ?