707’s High-End Hot Dogs

Poor 707 got savaged by the recently-unmasked Craig LaBan:


Certainly the well-trained staff is in a good mood, though their tableside delivery is so dramatic they could be auditioning for the Walnut Street Theatre nearby. Our first waiter caressed every syllable of his menu descriptions with such mellifluous cooing, it sounded like phone sex for foodies. In recounting the elaborate seasonings visited upon the burger, he had me at the “dehydrated onions.” Had that burger been even half as tasty as the description, I’d be whistling a happier tune. But it wasn’t: The 10-ounce patty was too finely ground, so overworked and tightly packed, that it had the texture of pate. And too many other dishes seemed to be the beneficiaries of more concept than careful cooking.

But on the bright side, LaBan dug the “marvelously fresh” funnel cake.

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707’s High-End Hot Dogs