[Photographs: Nick Solares]

I'm sitting at a counter that looks out of the window at Select Burger watching Monday morning life on First Avenue, and I'm apprehensive about the burger I'm about to eat. As the traffic slips past in a steady stream—a blur of yellow, red and blue—and pedestrians drudge along their day, I worry that I'm going to have to write a negative review about a new restaurant that appears to be the effort of a first time entrepreneur.

Frankly, the whole scheme seems hackneyed. The signs on the walls and menu both claim that the food is healthy, but doesn't back that up in any tangible way. The beef is fresh, not frozen Angus (no mention of grass feeding which means it probably isn't) served on white bread buns with the usual topping options: various cheeses, mayo, ketchup and fried onions. Not very healthy. Perhaps the lettuce and tomato are the healthy aspects that the menu alludes to. If so, it's a bit like those cereal companies claiming that their sugary breakfast cereals are somehow healthy because they contain a smidgen of fiber. Even the name is sort of odd—Select being the third best grade for beef by the USDA. I guess Prime and Choice (the top two grades) were already taken.

The cynic and, indeed, the critic in me might view the whole enterprise as an attempt to jump on the burger and health bandwagons, to exploit the seemingly endless mania for burgers and "healthy living." But at the same time without small business, without the individual entrepreneur, our economy and the burger landscape would be very different.

Ordering was not encouraging. "Do you want that well done?" I reply that I want it quite the opposite—rare, please. Most places give you everything on your burger, especially if there's a giant picture of a burger with everything on the menu above the counter. But at Select you get nothing unless you specifically ask for it. That's fine for me, but causes some consternation amongst everyone else who's expecting the burger to look like the picture.

I sigh and console myself with the thought that I don't serve the restaurant industry or the burger maker, as much as I may admire them. My constituency is the consumer—the punter who is going to plunk down their hard earned money on a hamburger.

My cheeseburger arrives—it looks brilliant!

Wide and flat, the cheese draped over the patty in a molten mass, glistening in the sunlight. The beef that pokes out appears to be charred and crispy, and it too glistens. The bun, a fluffy seeded affair from Rockland Bakery, is toasted, and while it looks a tad too big for the patty it turns out to be in perfect proportion.

Select Burger claims to grind their beef in house. I believe it—it has a sort of inept, homespun quality. It is on the chunky side and is a bit rubbery, but it has a good "steaky" flavor. While the menu claims the burgers are cooked over "charcoal fire" they turn out to be cooked first on the griddle and then finished on the gas grill. It's a curious approach, one born out of expediency rather than deliberation. "They stick when you put them right on the grill," reports the griddle/grill man when I ask how they came up with the cooking method. It's a happy accident. The griddle puts a decent crust on the patty and the grill adds a certain smokiness to the flavor.

Combined with the wonderful bun, it provides an unexpectedly pleasing and synergistic burger experience. While not the last word in flavor, the physical dimensions and the eating experience are not unlike that of Burger King. I imagine that loading it up with toppings would make the similarity greater.

I polish off the burger, my expectations happily exceeded. Is it the best burger I have ever had? Not even close. But it is a decent burger, especially for the price, and proves you really can't judge a book by its cover or a hamburger by its surroundings.