Hamburger America

by George Motz

  Depending on your preference, choose a fat-to-lean ratio. The best hamburgers have more fat (surprised?) but lean sirloin is always an option for the health conscious. Most butchers will choose an 80/20 percent ratio of muscle to fat if you don’t ask. This is because any more fat will cause the burger to shrink substantially as it cooks. Less than 5 percent fat may cause the burger to stick to the cooking surface.

  Ask for chuck shoulder. This is the most common part of the cow used for hamburger meat because of its high fat content. Some butchers will blend fatty chuck with sirloin in the grinder to increase the leanness of the mix.

  Ask your butcher to grind the chuck “twice” or ask for a “number two grind.” This means he’ll put it through the grinder twice to ensure that the fat and muscle fibers are blended well.

  Use the ground beef the day you purchase it. After the first day, refrigeration causes the juices to separate from the meat. These are the juices you need to create the perfect burger.

  MARTY’S

  10558 WEST PICO BLVD | LOS ANGELES, CA 90064

  310-836-6944 | OPEN DAILY 6 AM–6PM

  In a town where finding old, established anything is getting harder and harder, look for this tiny burger stand in West LA for a genuine blast from LA’s past. What’s more, Marty’s has been serving up quality fast food made with fresh ingredients and has never succumbed to the temptation to serve processed frozen food. For nearly five decades almost nothing has changed. “Nothing,” Vicki Bassman told me. “Never will.” Vicki is the daughter-in-law of Marty himself. She told me without pause, “There’s nothing like fresh meat.”

  Marty’s is the “Home of the Combo” and this fact is proudly displayed on a sign on the roof of the stand. The combo is so basic you’ll wonder why more restaurants have not followed suit. Invented in the 1950s, the combo at Marty’s is a hamburger with a hot dog on top. It’s a great-tasting way to be indecisive and order both fast-food icons together.

  Both meats for the combo come from high-quality ingredients. The hot dogs are Vienna Beef foot-longs and the burgers are pattied on the premises everyday from fresh ground chuck. Longtime grillman Geraldo told me, “We take a three-and-a-half ounce measured scoop of fresh ground beef and press each patty by hand.” They use a single press that produces an almost paper-thin patty, one at a time. On the original, perfectly seasoned griddle, the combo is cooked separately, then wed. The foot-long is halved lengthwise, flattened, and then halved again, resembling a small square red raft. The burger is cooked for less than a minute on each side before the hot dog raft is placed on top. The stack of America’s two favorite fast foods piggybacked on the griddle and separated by a square of yellow cheese is a sight both absurd and beautiful, a sight that makes you proud to be an American.

  Burgers come standard with mayonnaise, ketchup, lettuce, onion, and a tomato slice (which Angel slices as your burger comes off the griddle). Mustard and pickles need to be requested. One time a guy on line in front of me asked for his combo “my way,” which naturally sounded very folksy and personal, but he told me, “That just means extra mustard, extra mayo.”

  Marty Bassman opened the roadside stand in 1958 and worked the griddle until the late 1960s when operations were handed over to his son, Howard. At the time Howard assumed the business, he was only 17 years old. Today, Howard and his wife run the stand, as well as a successful catering business that focuses on supplying local schools with high-quality lunches and private barbecues around Los Angeles.

  I never would have discovered Marty’s had it not been for my LA cousin Dan Appel. The tiny blue and orange burger stand is a blur to most as they speed down Pico. Wedged between a gas station and a fire department, and down the street from popular Rancho Park, the stand is a daily lunch spot for firefighters. “They have a gym upstairs,” former manager Angel told me, “they have nothing to worry about.” The hard-working crew at Marty’s takes orders without writing a single thing down. “I can remember up to 25 orders at a time, in my head,” Angel told me once, tapping his temple.

  A throwback to simpler times, the stand offers walk-up service and a few outdoor stools and narrow counters along the sides of the structure. A patio behind the stand (that I only discovered recently) has enough seating for 50.

  Howard told me, “When I was a kid, there were mom-and-pop hamburger stands like Marty’s all over Los Angeles. They’ve all disappeared.” Across the street from Marty’s stands the ubiquitous golden arches of a popular American burger chain. Its garish presence, though, doesn’t seem to affect the brisk business being conducted at Marty’s. It seems that the waiting customers are smarter than that. They know where to find a real burger.

  PIE ’N BURGER

  913 E. CALIFORNIA BLVD | PASADENA, CA 91106

  626-795-1123 | WWW.PIENBURGER.COM

  MON–FRI 6 AM–10 PM

  SAT 7 AM–10 PM | SUN 7 AM–9 PM

  “That was the last slice of butterscotch pie. Hope you didn’t want one,” the waitress said to me on my first visit to this forty-plus-year-old burger counter. The customer I had just been speaking to, who had told me he was visiting from London, said he was not leaving California without a slice of butterscotch pie from Pie ‘n Burger. No big deal. I didn’t know what I was missing. Then I visited two more times and ran into the same problem (one time I showed up on a day they were not even offering the fabled pie). Finally, on my fourth visit, I got my slice. This pie is not to be missed. Their pie motto (written on the pie safe): “Take home one of our famous homemade pies for that special occasion or just when you want to live it up.”

  But the obvious reason to visit Pie ’n Burger is for their incredible hamburgers. Since 1963, the long, faux-wood-grain Formica countertop has seen its share of burger perfection. The burger they made in the ’60s is the same one that is served today. Even the local retail butcher that supplies the ground chuck has not changed in over 35 years. Longtime employee and owner Michael Osborne told me, “The beef we use is top quality and ground coarse. That’s why they taste so good.”

  Two other important factors that go into the great-tasting burgers are the original, well-seasoned, flattop griddle, and the homemade Thousand Island dressing. “We go through about 100 pounds of dressing a week,” Michael told me. The recipe came directly from Kraft in the ’30s. Original owners Benny and Florence Foote were in the restaurant business long before opening Pie ’n Burger. According to Michael, Benny contacted Kraft and they gave him the recipe. “We still make it the same exact way, using Kraft mayonnaise.”

  A burger with Thousand Island dressing may sound familiar. California’s own burger phenomenon, In-N-Out, also uses the dressing on their burgers. If you order a double-double at Pie ’n Burger, you basically get the same burger, only much better. Both burgers are made with fresh ground beef that has been griddled, served on toasted white buns with iceberg lettuce and the dressing, wrapped in waxed paper. Pie ’n Burger takes a giant leap forward by doubling the quantity of the beef to a quarter-pound per patty. The burgers at Pie ’n Burger are also somewhat hand formed. Quarter-pound balls of fresh beef are measured with an ice cream scoop then smashed flat with a huge can of tomato juice.

  The system for cooking and assembling the burgers is all about efficiency. One person flips the burgers while another preps buns with a wedge of lettuce and dressing. The grillmen are seasoned professionals—one, Franciso, told me enthusiastically, “I’ve been here for 37 years!”

  Michael started working at the restaurant in 1972, flipping burgers and going to USC full time. When he graduated, he continued to work at the restaurant, gradually helping out with managerial duties. In the late ’70s, Michael bought a piece of the business and in 1992 the Foote family, in search of retirement, sold the remainder of the shares to him.

  Pie ’n Burger looks exactly as it did in 1963 (with some obvious wear and tear). The wood-paneled walls and plaid wallpaper look beautifully out of date, as does the hand-painted wall menu. A cup of buttermilk is still
offered with the usual diner fare of tuna sandwiches and chicken pot pie.

  I asked Michael why he had stuck with the burger counter for so long and he told me, “I took the job because it was fun working here. To me, life is about having fun.” Michael also feels like he has been entrusted to Pie ’n Burger’s survival. “I feel like a caretaker to the business for the community.”

  VAL’S BURGERS

  2115 KELLY ST | HAYWARD, CA 94541

  510-889-8257 | TUE–SAT 6:30 AM–10 PM

  CLOSED MONDAY

  Many diners across America attempt to re-create the ’50s malt shop experience but few offer an authentic experience. It’s not easy to bottle that feeling unless you happen to have been able to survive the last five decades with your values intact. Val’s was created to be exactly what it is today—a perfect example of a mid-century West Coast hangout that still cranks out some of the best shakes and burgers in America.

  Val’s is always busy. At dinnertime, every red leather booth is taken and you’d be hard pressed to find a stool at the long counter that runs the entire length of the diner. There is a constant stream of take-out orders leaving through a side door and the wide indoor flame grill is loaded with sizzling patties. A Little League team had taken over the three booths in the center of the restaurant and a young couple was sharing a hot fudge sundae in the corner. In the center of all of this ordered chaos I spotted a tall, lanky man with a bushy black moustache sweeping up around a booth. The busboy? Nope, this was none other than owner of 28 years George Nickolopoulos. I asked him why he was sweeping and he replied flatly, “I never stop.” I soon realized that after nearly three decades of ownership he still does everyone’s job, making rounds of tables, the grill, the register, constantly checking and making sure the dinner rush is going smoothly.

  Before the arched wood ceiling diner with its large windows was built in 1958, Val’s was a small barbershop across the parking lot. The original Val’s eventually morphed into a variety store and post office run by George’s aunt and uncle, Carmen and Al Valenzuela (hence the name Val). At some point Al decided to start selling “charcoal burgers,” and they quickly became the core of his business. Building a larger building with the focus on burgers and shakes was a foregone conclusion.

  The burgers at Val’s come in three sizes—the one-third-pound Baby Burger, the half-pound Mama Burger, and the one-pound Papa Burger. On my first visit I was drawn to the Papa Burger mostly because of its absurd size sporting two half-pound patties on a toasted bun. I tried to compress the burger to fit into my face but still could not ram it in. I actually finished the mountain of meat-and-cheese and was amazed to find that even though the burger was cartoonish in size it was still exploding with flavor and juiciness. It seemed from looking around that the Mama Burger was the way to go.

  The Papa Burger at Val’s, actual size

  I asked George how many burgers he could sell on a busy day and he quickly replied, “If you have time to count you are not doing enough.” Other questions about how he runs the business were met with similar responses. I had nothing but respect for this icon of the burger world and was enjoying his caginess. He did however offer one nugget of advice: “I’ll tell you this. Our meat is far superior than anyone else’s. It’s also in the way you prepare the burgers that separates the men from the boys. No one would ever consider putting as much time as we put into these.”

  Don’t miss out on the shakes at Val’s. Longtime counterperson Valerie told me, “The best milkshake I’ve ever had is the Root Beer Banana shake. It’s like milkshake crack.” She wasn’t kidding. The signature shake, also know to regulars as the Rootanana, has only three ingredients—vanilla ice cream, root beer syrup, and an entire banana. A friend of mine along for the trip took a sip of his and shouted, “That’s insane!” I agree.

  Val’s is a Bay Area must on a hamburger tour of America and not just for its great burgers, shakes, and easy-going atmosphere. Go to Val’s knowing that it is a family place—not only are generations of regulars still enjoying Val’s, George’s entire family works there in some capacity. It takes a family to run a true family restaurant.

  WESTERN STEAKBURGER

  2730 UNIVERSITY AVE | SAN DIEGO, CA 92104

  619-296-7058 | MON–SAT 10 AM–9 PM

  On a trip to San Diego to film a TV show, I made plans to visit one of my favorite burger stands in America, Hodad’s in Ocean Beach. But a crew member of mine alerted me to another nearby out-of-the-way burger spot that I had to try.

  Western Steakburger sits on the edge of the up-and-coming San Diego neighborhood of North Park. Opened in 1983 by Greek immigrant “Gus” Constantinos Anastasiu and his effervescent wife, Maria, the Greek-influenced restaurant kept burgers and gyros separate for the first year. But sometime in 1984, Gus piled a wad of sliced gyro meat on a finished burger and the Western Steakburger was born.

  The restaurant is set back from the street, fronted by a large palm tree. If you sit on the small front patio, the soundtrack for your meal is the rustling of palm fronds and the occasional thump-thump of a passing urban party-on-wheels. Members of the San Diego police department make regular stops at this burger restaurant and have been for decades (cops always know where the good burgers are). But before you plan to sit beneath the palm fronds on University Avenue, plan on taking the afternoon off—this burger is a beast.

  The menu lists many “steakburgers” and their toppings (e.g., pastrami, bacon, and chili) but there’s no mention of the burger that made them famous. The gyro-topped burger is listed simply as the half-pound “Western Steakburger.” “Gus never wanted to list the contents of the Western, he always says ‘let them ask,’” Maria told me.

  The burgers are cooked over an open flame in full view of waiting patrons. Oval-shaped patties of fresh-ground beef are grilled to perfection and placed on toasted white, squishy buns. Grillman Ricky then places a one-third-pound pile of the salty gyro meat on the patty and delivers the burger with mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise, lettuce, tomato, pickles, and onion.

  After my first bite, I was in heaven. The familiar spice of the gyro meat complemented the burger well and somehow the pound of ingredients managed to stay neatly tucked into the soft bun. About 20 minutes after ingesting this glorious grease-bomb, I had to pull over in my rental car because I was having food coma hallucinations. My advice to you—do not operate heavy machinery or a motor vehicle after enjoying this burger.

  Maria was working the counter when I visited. “You have to love what you do. Mom-and-pops are a dying breed.” Western Steakburger was the first burger available to residents of North Park. Today, the tiny familyowned burger joint feels the heat from a McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and a Burger King only a few blocks away. But thanks to recent development in the neighborhood (a condo just went up across the street), people are starting to take notice of Western Steakburger and their flair for coupling Greek and American foods. Maria told me, laughing, “How come after 28 years people are just starting to come? Why couldn’t they come when we were younger and had more energy!”

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  COLORADO

  BUD’S BAR

  5453 MANHART ST | SEDALIA, CO 80135

  303-688-9967

  MON–SAT 10 AM–10 PM | SUN 11 AM–7 PM

  Bud’s Bar is not in Denver. On a map, the town of Sedalia, Colorado, looks like it could be a suburb of the Mile High City, but in person, the tiny town, surrounded by cattle farms, feels as remote as any town on the Kansas Plain.

  Bud’s is one of only a few businesses in the small downtown of Sedalia. The 63-year-old bar sits between two busy railroad rights-of-way that are only a few hundred feet apart. It’s not uncommon to be stuck at either crossing for longer than 20 minutes waiting for a long coal train to pass. “Some guys walk out, see the train, and say ‘Oh well!’ and head back inside for another beer,” Mike Steerman told me. Mike should know. He owns the place.

  Mike is only the third owner of Bud’s since Calixte “Bud” Hebert co
nverted an auto shop into a bar in 1948. In the 1960s, Bud became a local judge and decided that judges shouldn’t own bars. He sold his tavern to an employee, Thurman Thompson. In the 1980s, current owner Mike started tending the bar part-time to relieve stress from his job as a salesman. When Thurman decided to sell the bar, he set his sights on Mike, knowing that he would change little about the place.

  The one thing I’ll bet most people were afraid he would change was the burger. Rest assured that Mike has kept it the same. With a name like Steerman, it would be stupid to question his Colorado heritage or his affinity for fresh beef. The burger at Bud’s is a classic griddled quarter-pounder with American cheese on a white squishy bun. It’s absolutely amazing and transcends the standard notion of bar food. The burger bursts with flavor and is one of the juiciest griddled burgers I have ever eaten.

  People go to Bud’s for two reasons—because they know everyone in the bar and for the burgers. Outside of drinks at the bar, Bud’s has served only burgers since the beginning. “It’s simple,” Mike explained, “we don’t offer lettuce, we don’t offer tomato, and we only use one kind of cheese.” Fries? Nope. Chips will have to do. But trust me, you’ll be focusing on this burger and nothing else.

  The burgers start as 80/20 chuck hand pressed in a single patty maker. They are cooked on a smallish flattop griddle in a bright, clean kitchen next to the bar. As a burger nears doneness, both halves of a bun are placed on the burger and covered with a lid to steam the bun to softness. Your order is served with a bag of chips and a slice of onion in a plastic mesh basket lined with waxed paper. “That’s it,” Mike told me, proud of the simplicity of his product. Locals in the know request jalapeño slices that Mike has stashed in a small jar in the kitchen.