Splitz Grill, Whistler

Well, I’m back in the UK now, and thoroughly jet-lagged. Not from a sleep perspective you understand, but my stomach really doesn’t know where it is.

When I first arrived in Canada, I adapted to the new sleeping pattern within a day. My stomach, on the other hand, did not. Crying out for breakfast at midnight, lunch at 6am, waking me up at all hours with little more than abject confusion about why it wasn’t being kept in the manner to which it had become accustomed.

Eventually, its whingeing subsided, and it readied itself for the onslaught of protein that pervades the North American continent. From Florida to the Yukon, one of the few things the Canadians share with their southern neighbours is the love of meat, and certainly, burgers.

So it was under this banner (and a good few weeks of anticipation) that I was invited to visit Splitz Grill.

Splitz. Om nom nom.

Splitz is spectacularly popular. That is to say, the queue was ruddy huge. Wandering in, you get a sense of meaty goodness from the rich wafting smells, and a hubub of activity, both from the cooks preparing the burgers, and from the patrons excitedly discussing their upcoming meal. This is because, at Splitz, you get to specify as much, or as little, as you want from your burger. Debate rages among those who want Splitz sauce (a wonderfully garlicky mayonnaise) vs hummus vs guacamole vs relish. Onions, white or red? Tomato? Cucumber? Peppers? Pickles? The list goes on and on.

Splitz Menu

After choosing one’s burger base from the menu (which includes a rather tasty Buffalo variant), one shuffles down the line to the workbench of toppings. First, the toasted bun is smeared with your choice of Splitz sauce, hummus, tzatziki, salsa, guacamole and so on. Next, toppings, which I don’t really have the time to list, so here’s a photo:

Toppings. Yum.

Post-smear

Awaiting the meat

Next, the meat. Oh god, the meat. Grilled to perfection, glazed in BBQ sauce (administered on-grill with a paintbrush, which is awesome), topped (in my case) with a slice of startlingly yellow cheese and rashers of sweet, crispy bacon. Be still, my rumbling stomach. The anticipation is palpable. As you carry your tray calmly towards your seat, stomach dancing around like a kid on Christmas, saliva filling the mouth, awaiting, with baited breath, the wonders that are infusing beneath the wrapper infront of you.

Anticipation

And then, it begins, the unwrap, the first few bites, the moan of contentment, more and more bites of juicy, moreish, flavour-packed deliciousness, the unrelenting hugeness of the thing never detracting from the wonderful taste, but, from experience, I know I need to keep going, I have to eat it all before my stomach realises it’s full.

A rare pause...

Suddenly, it’s gone. A whiff of onion and gherkin on the breath, the rich, meaty, garlicky dribblings just waiting for a chip to be used, mop-like, to prolong the wonder that my stomach, although now stuffed to breaking point, will thank me for later, and will crave again before long.

The calm after the storm

I visited Splitz 4 times whilst in Whistler, and I can say that, thusfar in my now closing on 25 years, it’s earned its place in my hall of fame. In fact, if I ever find myself on the Sea to Sky highway again, I’ll undoubtedly make a detour. The Splitz sauce alone is enough to justify the visit, but the family air, the incredibly happy cooks, the (at least at the time of writing) wonderful exchange-rate-friendly prices and the just sheer TASTE of the thing, will live long in my memory, and longer in that of my stomach, which is probably more annoyed than I am that I had to come home.