24/05/2025: Eddie Rockets. The name alone conjures up images of chrome diners, leather booths, and jukeboxes belting out Elvis at full tilt. In Dublin, it’s the fast-food altar of all things faux-American, where nostalgia meets melted cheese and everything comes with a side of guilt.
Anne Street’s branch is right in the belly of the city – and it wants you to believe you’re stepping into a 1950s Midwest daydream. And in some ways, you are. That tell-tale smell of deep-fried dreams hits you the moment you walk in. But so does the faint whiff of damp vinyl and something not far removed from despair. Still, you’re not here for the ambience. You’re here for the meat.
I ordered the M50 burger. A name that conjures tailbacks, concrete, and existential dread. But what arrived was anything but. It was an unapologetic tower of beef – thick, juicy, and charred just enough to remind you this is real, honest-to-god cow. It came dripping with molten cheese, stacked high with pickles and onions that snapped with every bite, all squashed into a bun that somehow held together despite the structural carnage inside. It didn’t need finesse. It had flavour – the kind that makes you lean back and let out an involuntary grunt of satisfaction.
The chips? Hot, crisp, and seasoned with just enough salt and spice to keep you compulsively reaching for more. They didn’t whisper. They shouted.
Across the table, my girlfriend took on the Southern Fried Chicken Tenders – golden, rugged strips of chicken breast that crunched audibly under the fork. None of that spongey, suspicious stuff you get in lesser places. These were tender, juicy, and dangerously moreish. She dipped them in sauce and closed her eyes – a sign it’s going well.
The vanilla milkshake? It was a thing of beauty. Thick enough to slow traffic, cold as a February morning, and with just the right amount of sweetness. Not the synthetic, saccharine gloop you get in lesser places. This tasted real – as if someone in the back had actually used ice cream instead of a powder mix.
And yet, the cracks showed – quite literally. The décor, once gleaming and proud, now looked like it had been in a bar fight. Holes in the wall had been lazily patched, the chairs were torn like they’d been mauled by a pack of sugar-crazed toddlers, and ours was so sticky I feared it might take a shoe as a souvenir. The whole place could do with a deep clean and someone armed with a paint roller and a bit of dignity.
The staff were friendly, but not without issue. The woman at the counter, pleasant as she was, had trouble understanding my Irish accent – a surreal moment that ended with the manager translating my burger order in Hindi. Only in Dublin, only at Eddie Rockets.
But despite the chaos, the grime, and the lost-in-translation episode, the food delivered. It was the kind of meal that leaves your fingers shiny and your soul slightly soothed. It’s not perfect. But it’s tasty, comforting, and if you squint – just for a second – it’s almost charming in its battered, burger-stained glory.
19/05/2025: It was a good option earlier , now with higher prices compared to portion size and food given .. unbelievable .. 50 euros for a burger meal , Salad and two drinks ! .. come on … am no more a fan of this place
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