What is it with Glasgow and burgers?

It seems that every other opening in the city these days is a burger joint, or a burger joint thinly disguised as a US-themed restaurant. There is even a blog - James vs Burger - dedicated to reviewing the city's burger portfolio. The eponymous James (who must surely be the most single-minded and diligent carnivore in Scotland) is on the "ultimate burger journey" and organises the reader-voted Best Burger in Glasgow award.

Good on James is all I can say. He does a great job, chewing over the city's rapidly expanding burger menu with all the chin-dripping relish of the true buff, a sterling service to those who share the enthusiasm for permutations of minced meat stuffed in a roll. Someone has to do it, if only to record Glasgow's burger trend for posterity, but I'm heartily glad it isn't me.

Burgers are turning into a civic obsession, and it's becoming boring, another greasy piece of baggage, like the deep-fried Mars bar, with which to saddle and stereotype the city's culinary reputation. If half the mental effort being lavished on the burger concept by restaurant start-ups was focused on any other type of food, then Glasgow's eating out scene might blossom. As it is, burgers are the attention-grabbing brat in the city's culinary family.

It's easy on paper to confuse the newish Burger Meats Bun with the also newish Meat Bar. Both are blocks apart on the same street. Both inhabit dark basements. Of the two, Burger Meats Bun is the scruffy relation. It tries to make an advantage out of its low-roofed, cramped, crepuscular, frankly unattractive premises by throwing in quasi-industrial materials (iron sheeting, reclaimed timber) and exploiting the increasingly hackneyed riff of austerity dining: beaten-up cutlery served in recycled tin cans, water in old lemonade bottles, and disposable everything else. You don't even get a plate or a board for your burger, it just comes wrapped in greaseproof paper under a sticky label that reads The Beef, Chic Chic Chicken or Nae Meat. There's no standing on ceremony here.

Our "fiery" burger came in an unexceptional bun and was indeed piquant - put that down to the chipotle (smoked chilli) mayonnaise and jalapenos - so much so it overpowered the meat. It came with a cheese misspelt as Toma Raschiera; I think they mean Raschera, a mild, melting cheese from Cuneo in northern Italy.

I couldn't bring myself to order the Hot Chic, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, so I went for the Clucking BLT (no rhyme with the F word intended I'm sure) after being assured by our waitress that the chicken was not only free-range, but also organic.

It was the better of our two burgers, the confit leg meat remained succulent, with mellow mayo and a daub of salsa verde moistening it further, although the flavour of the nice, dry, smoky bacon rasher slightly dominated the bird.

Things went downhill with the soft-skinned, sticky-sweet Seoul chicken wings, which really didn't make one feel like a "happy eater".

Chips, nearly excellent in that they were ultra crisp, had spent too long in the deep fat fryer, emerging moccasin-brown. Slaw of carrot and red cabbage was workaday, without any flash of flair, the sort you eat because it's good for you (not because you really want to) or push to the side.

Desserts are themed round visual puns. Burger & Shake - a homage to Ronald McDonald perhaps - consisted of a thin, flat French-style macaroon with chocolate, raspberry and mango goo inside it (the burger), and a shake, served in a mini milk bottle. Maybe the latter was meant to taste of vanilla, tonka bean, even chocolate, but it just reminded me of UHT milk. Still, it was miles superior to the Donuts & Dipping sauce, a stack of soggy-centred, cube-shaped doughnuts, once again fried to a rich mahogany, served with a cloying chocolate sauce. A nutritional car crash of a dessert, and just what you don't need after a stomach sinker of a meal.

I put my cards on the table. Yes, I just don't get the whole burger thing; it's not my bag. And Burger Meats Bun hasn't converted me.