Quality is the key to winning the high street bunfight

THE history of hamburgers is a hotly disputed battleground, but minced salt beef was a traditional North European food during and after the Middle Ages, because it kept well and could be easily transported.

As a result, it became a staple on ships travelling to America in the 19th century, especially from German ports such as Hamburg – hence the name. Cattle-rich Americans embraced the hamburger and by the start of the 20th century it was being served as a sandwich. Just who made that culinary breakthrough is debatable, but the hamburger got its first media attention at the 1904 World's Fair in St Louis.

In later times, the burger has become synonymous with soulless fast food chains, killer salt levels, and the destruction of the rainforest. Commercial hamburgers now taste so bland you get more flavour in their cardboard wrapping – I know, I've tried it. Enter a trio of London-based New Zealanders in 2001 who wanted something more authentic. So they set up the Gourmet Burger Kitchen chain, whose first Scottish outlet has just opened in Edinburgh.

The Gourmet Burger Kitchen (GBK) is a burger bar for grown-ups. Or put another way: it is a place you can take the kiddies out to eat and still find something palatable for adults. This is not a fast food operation, so expect a modest wait until your food is delivered to your table by the cheery waitresses.

There are literally several dozen different burgers at GBK, including Cajun, Jamaican, venison, chicken, vegetarian and something called a Kiwiburger. I plunged in with the classic hamburger – 100 per cent Aberdeen Angus beef (£5.65). This came in a satisfyingly big bun complete with salad and relish. How should you eat a hamburger? The etiquette, according to my American friends, is to pick it up and munch like any other sandwich – cutting it up with a knife and fork is definitely not an option.

The basic GBK burger is lean and tasty, and not dripping in fat. I peeked into the kitchen and the chef was busy turning each sizzling patty on the griddle in a professional manner – no mass production under a grill at GBK. The sourdough buns are baked on the premises.

However, the negatives are that the portion of meat is modest and you don't get to fix your own relish unless you take the whole bun apart. Not being able to tailor your hamburger to your own requirements – be it lashings of ketchup or smotherings of mustard – seemed to me to detract from the whole romance of the experience.

For contrast, we also had the Greek lamb burger, which came with hummus, cucumber raita, fresh chilli sauce and salad (£7.35). The result was flavourful. My vegetarian friend went for the portabella burger, which in addition to the eponymous mushroom came with red peppers, rocket, red onion and pesto (£7.25). I was prepared to hate this rather expensive concoction but it turned out to be well-prepared for what it was. The mushroom was succulent and the red peppers had been properly roasted and skinned. In the end, though, I'm not sure a vegetable sandwich actually works – who needs the bun? And the addition of the tart pesto was a distraction.

No burger experience is complete without French fries and here GBK scores highly. Their real chips are plump and hand-cut, not the anorexic spaghetti coated in industrial salt that you get in the high street burger chains. But at £2.55 for a small bowl, they are expensive.

The first time I ate at the famous NoHo Star deli in Manhattan's East Village, I decided to be cool and European, so I only ordered two rounds of French fries for the four of us. My New York friends shook their heads at my naiveté. What arrived were two enormous platters of fries, which would have fed a starving army. My point: in the US the side orders are usually over generous, which is a cheap way of making you feel you are being looked after. But in the UK, restaurants think it is OK to serve tiny side orders at inflated prices as a way of making money. It does not work! This counts double for the three strands of rocket that were in my green salad (£2.45).

Unlike the high street burger chains, GBK has a beer and wine list. The wine is modestly priced and quaffable. We had a Chilean Culpeo Merlot which was fair, if a trifle cold when it arrived. Of course, you should really drink beer with a burger and – because of the company's origins – GBK offers you Steinlager, which is brewed in New Zealand. Steinlager began life in 1957 when the New Zealand government threatened to ban beer imports to save on foreign currency.

The GBK is clearly an attempt to do for hamburgers what Pizza Express did for dough. In the notoriously conservative Scottish eating market, it is a gamble whether or not young folk will pay GBK prices for the fast food they can get at half the price round the corner, even if the latter is inferior. Or whether the fur coat brigade will forsake Harvey Nick's bistro for a burger.