Before I went to Tina’s for the first time, I’d heard fervent praise from multiple people about its good vibes and its even better burgers. There is little more I would ask of a neighborhood bar, and I must not be the only one. At about 5:00 p.m. on a Thursday, there were maybe a dozen patrons in booths and at the bar top. Every seat was full by 6:00.
The bar’s website touts “Cold Drinks, Warm Friends,” and “warm” is exactly right. The coat rack in the entry, the dark wood grain in the booths, the rounded wall recesses and accents—walking in is a cozy slap in the face. Even the daytime lighting is whatever the most flattering color temperature and wattage are that are still bright enough to see by (or to take photos of your food and/or friends by, if you’re so inclined).
I think being spoiled for choice by a fifty-page menu is the bad kind of spoiled, so it was a happy discovery that Tina’s offerings are, simply: classic cocktails like negronis, old fashioneds, and whiskey sours; a something-for-everyone, mid-priced wine list; a dozen-ish canned and bottled beer options; and exactly six food items. If you’re only going to do a few things that everyone’s seen before, doing them exactly right is critical, and this is Tina's magic—hitting that cheeky little sweet spot between familiarity and excellence.
The Platonic Ideal Of A McDonald's Burger
We ordered the smashburger and BLT (both come with fries) and a dish of the cancha. Sharp-eyed Tulsa restaurant enthusiasts might recognize chef Alex Koch through the food pickup window from her stint at et al. The cancha—a Peruvian-style roasted corn kernel—is a takeaway from one of her dinners there. Koch’s cancha comes liberally dusted with salt and gochugaru, a sun-dried Korean chile powder that gets hotter the more you eat. It’s the perfect bar snack in that it provokes extreme thirst, with a texture I’d liken to inside-out popcorn…but not in the way popcorn is inside-out corn. It’s crispy on the outside, puffy on the inside, and served in a tiny bowl that is the exact right amount to eat without obliterating your taste buds.
The BLT was a BLT, but with a few extra flourishes. The tomato relish in lieu of a huge slice of tomato addresses (though does not entirely solve) the wateriness that plagues an in-season BLT, and flecks of fresh dill here and there made every bite of the large sandwich potentially a little different. My favorite thing about this BLT was also the boldest: the mayo had a forceful amount of black pepper in it, so much so that I confusedly dissected the sandwich to figure out where the subtle heat was coming from because it carried through every bite after the first few. Magic!
As a kid, I watched a primetime special on commercial food styling, where I learned a bunch of things I wish I hadn’t, like they use glue as cereal milk and mashed potatoes as ice cream. It deflated a hope I had unknowingly carried with me until then: that someday I would taste a chain restaurant food item as delicious as the commercial version looked. The smashburger at Tina’s doesn’t look like it’s held together with pins or anything, but, miraculously, it tastes like I am eating a McDonald’s commercial from my childhood. I cannot fully convey how happy it makes me feel to know it can be done. It’s a double patty burger super smashed down, heavy on the pickles, burger sauce, and American cheese, where the fat from the cheese and sauce linger like nostalgic ghosts after each bite. It is perfect.
The fries are another fast food homage, a pile of golden shoestrings with a dish of ketchup. These look like but do not taste like McDonald’s fries, because they taste like potatoes and not like potatoes plus who-knows-what-else (“Natural Beef Flavor” is a McD’s fry ingredient). They scratch the itch without making you feel gross about liking them so much, and they can be ordered aside each sandwich, on their own, or from the most audacious section of the menu, Happy Hour, where they’re in a basket with a bottle of pét-nat, the combo affectionately dubbed “Girl Lunch.”
If you’re eating a full meal, I recommend accompanying it with the house drink, a Tina’s Cold Beer, a bespoke American Solera brew plastered with an adorable heart on the label. If you can toss aside the liquor-before-beer adage, maybe cap it off with the Doubleshot Martini, an ode to the local business that previously occupied the space and a nod to the memories of the neighborhood in which it resides. (One that, as Cassidy McCants’ recent review of Maple Ridge Grocer pointed out, is seeing a welcome surge in walkable dining/drinking options.)
That’s important for Tina’s, too. The bar’s Instagram says it wants to be a “neighborhood joint” for friends, a space for “classic cocktails and delicious little smashburgers.” Mission accomplished, Tina.
The Pickup's reviews are published with support from The Online Journalism Project.
