Is a Michelin-starred burger worth it? Heard in Borough makes its case

Independent

10-07-2025

B urgers have come a long way in recent years. It no longer cuts it to shove a ball of mince between two buns with a squirt of ketchup – and it hasn't done for a while.
Most recently, it's all about the smash burger, a method that involves squashing the minced beef straight onto a super hot griddle, resulting in a thin patty with caramelised edges and a juicy centre.
The possibilities are broad. Perhaps you like yours simply with cheese, burger sauce and pickles? Or onion and jalapenos smooshed right into a patty as it fries? What about bacon, truffle, miso, blue cheese or beef brisket?
Maybe you're more of a chicken burger fan, another area that knows no bounds. Vegetarians need not be excluded – I once had a Moving Mountains quarter-pounder sliced horizontally and sizzled up smash-style that slapped like Will Smith at the Oscars.
But just how good can a burger really get?
When I found out that Jordan Bailey (formerly the head chef at Aimsir, the fastest restaurant to achieve two stars in the history of the Michelin Guide Great Britain and Ireland) had recently opened Heard, a burger restaurant in Borough, my curiosity was piqued.
With a focus on taking 'an everyday classic and making it exceptional' and bringing the 'same skill, precision, obsession with flavour and high-quality ingredients' you'd find in a two-Michelin-starred restaurant to the humble fast-food staple, it certainly sounds like burgers can get even better.
In addition to excellent ingredients, what sets Heard apart from other joints is the optional drink pairing available. You can choose from wine or beer from Forest Road Brewery (which has an excellent taproom in London Fields if you ever need a pint and a good time) that have been selected by Bailey's sommelier wife, Majken Bech-Bailey, to 'perfectly complement the flavours'.
I order The Heard, a 35-day aged double smashed patty with white onion, jalapeno hot honey, pickles, secret sauce and raclette-style Ogleshield – all the cheeses have been sourced from top-end UK producers – slapped between a shiny, butter-toasted, roast potato bun. This signature burger is ridiculously delicious, dripping with cheese and sauce; the bun is built to withstand it all and maintains its structural integrity throughout. It's salty, a tiny bit sweet from the honey, has a hint of heat and the patty has a lovely crispness at the edges. Personally, I prefer my burgers a little rarer, more juicy than chewy, but that's just a preference.
There's something a little odd about then picking up a glass of fancy 2021 riesling with hands covered in cheesy grease; some wet wipes wouldn't go amiss, but an implicit part of a burger is mess. It did, however, taste great together. As did my guest's Truffle Shuffle (Italian black truffle mayo, Baron Bigod cheese and pickled red onions), which also pairs excellently with actual grande reserve champagne. Interestingly, he said it was 'the most flavoursome burger I've ever had, but that still doesn't make it the one I've enjoyed most'.
Cheese fries aren't just any cheese fries, but seasoned with beef fat and herb salt, bathed in fondue-like sauce and topped with proper chunks of pickle. Again, splendid, and almost too salty – which I love but may be a bit intense for some.
The verdict? Yes, these burgers are exceptional; yes, the ingredients are top-notch; and yes, there is clear skill on display. But about halfway through eating, I realise a burger really is just a burger. You can dress it up and down, but it can really only get so good. And this is coming from someone who would probably put one on her death row meal.
I've come away just as satisfied from other London favourites, namely Filthy Buns, Black Bear, Bear and Burger Store and Bun and Sum. For an elevated experience that combines the somewhat gimmicky fun of a wine pairing with the important guarantee that you're getting something of high, responsible quality, then this is your place – but at the end of the day, it's still a burger, albeit a bloody good one.
I will caveat this with an ice cream sandwich isn't just an ice cream sandwich. Heard's involves a painstaking three-day process that results in the most perfect, decadent, chocolate-brownie-based creation. I don't even like ice cream sandwiches, and now this is all I can think about. Don't skip on it – you heard it here first.