Year of Eating Differently (116): Ed's, Old Compton Street

This shining glass temple to 1950s Americana has haunted me for some time, but I've never managed to get beyond the doors; tried last week, but was dissuaded by my American accomplice.
However, made it through at last today. Plonked myself at the bar and the sunburnt chap of indeterminable accent took my order, and ten minutes later I was out again, clutching a brown paper bag holding chips and burger.

Burger was - well, just pure filth. One of the best I've had yet, a slice of half melted Swiss cheese, some unidentifiable sauce (probably mayo) enough lettuce to obviate the guilt at chowing down on so much burger, and the thing so greasy that the paper wrapper had turned transparent. Joyous.
Ten minutes later you're hungry again, but too bad. On the downside, the chips were just - well, not unpalatable, but nothing exciting, and really I wanted fries, long bootlaces of trans fats with a golden gleam, not something that's half the way to being a potato wedge. Not so happy about that.
Then again, by the sounds of it I really should have ordered a milkshake made with a pulverised Kit Kat and half a pint of icecream, and then I would have spent the afternoon burbling like a fool and occasionally lapsing into consciousness. Next time...