A skeptical barfly might be forgiven for dismissing something called the “Smith burger with fries” as the quintessence of generic. That barfly would be wrong. There he is now, swinging open the door of Smith, surveying the crowd of aesthetes and hipsters, noting that if you hang enough gilt-framed portraits on delicate wallpaper even rustic wood tables and ironic taxidermy go elegant. He sizes up the bar as a serious one, one that knows its booze—he’s right—and he crosses his fingers and orders the burger, hoping for the best.And that’s precisely what he gets. This burger breathes a trail of intoxicating wood smoke from grill to table. It’s big—a hearty half-pounder of Painted Hills natural beef, precisely fitted to its sturdy/soft Columbia City Bakery potato bun—and lacquered with dripping cheddar (or swiss or blue), and bacon if you ordered it. The fixings are careful—crisp little gem lettuce, beefsteak tomato, yellow onion, a big old housemade pickle—and on the side, little pots of ketchup and aioli for spreading or dipping.