by George Motz
8
GEORGIA
ANN’S SNACK BAR
1615 MEMORIAL DRIVE SE | ATLANTA, GA 30317
404-687-9207 | MON–SAT 11 AM–9 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
A visit to Ann’s Snack Bar is not for the faint of heart. I warn you now, the list of rules posted on the wall covers only a fraction of how you should behave in Miss Ann’s small outpost on the southeast side of Atlanta. I’ll do my best here to prepare you for the onslaught that will lead to one of the best hamburgers in America.
“When I die, I want them to say, ‘She was a mean bitch but she made a great hamburger!’” While she works alone in the burger and hot dog shack she has owned and tended to since 1972, she keeps the waiting patrons amused with a running comedy routine that covers everything from new condos going up and down the street to her retirement and Social Security woes. The guy sitting next to me explained, “It’s like a barbershop in here.” The routine is real, though, no acting here. I found out the hard way when she threw me out of the restaurant for wanting to interview her. “I threw Southern Living out just last week! I don’t give a damn . . . Get out!” I stuck it out and was rewarded with the only thing that seems to get ordered from her short menu—the “Ghetto Burger.”
In 1994 a Checkers drive-in hamburger stand opened up just two doors down from Ann’s. Realizing that she had to offer something different to maintain her business, Miss Ann (as she is affectionately called by regulars) ditched the frozen patties she was serving for fresh ground beef, and lots of it. The gimmick worked. “If I had known that’s all it took to be world famous I would have done this years ago,” she told the crowd at the eight-stool counter. But fresh beef was only the beginning. The Ghetto is an enormous burger, a glorious heap of sin, a pile of just about every ingredient in the restaurant. Two hand-formed patties that are unmeasured but look close to a half pound each are slow cooked on a flattop griddle and sprinkled often with seasoned salt as they cook. The construction of the Ghetto Burger includes the two patties, toasted bun, onion, ketchup, mustard, chili, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and bacon. If that were not enough, the bacon is deep-fried. The finished product resembles a food accident and tastes as it should—amazing.
“One lady came in here and watched everything I did and said ‘Miss Ann, how come I can’t make a burger at home like yours?’ and I told her ‘because you ain’t Ann, and you ain’t BLACK!’” She punctuates her delivery by repeatedly slapping the counter hard. The mostly black crowd laughs at all of it and waits patiently for their burgers, which can take up to 45 minutes.
Ann wants to retire, though she keeps pushing the date back. Preventing her retirement has been the search to find the right buyer. “I don’t want some developer coming in here and tearing the place down,” but she smiles, “though the money would be nice.”
9
IDAHO
HUDSON’S HAMBURGERS
207 EAST SHERMAN AVE I COEUR D’ALENE, ID 83814
208-664-5444 | MON-FRI 9:30 AM–6 PM
SAT 9:30 AM–5:30 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
If you had found yourself in Coeur d’Alene at the turn of the century, chances are you would have paid a visit to Harley Hudson’s tiny canvas burger tent for some greasy nourishment. The great news is that over a hundred years later you can still visit this landmark burger counter for the same greasy nourishment. The tent may have gone brick-and-mortar and has moved four times (only a few blocks each move), but the burgers are still made with pride by the fourth generation of the Hudson family.
This classic burger counter is just what you’d expect to find in picturesque downtown Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. From the front window of the restaurant you can see a piece of the enormous Lake Coeur d’Alene and imagine the hydroplane speedboat races that took place there in the 1950s and 1960s. Find a spot at the long counter and order a burger, the only thing on the menu.
“We also have drinks and pie,” grillman Eli told me, “but that’s it. No fries, no chips, no nothing.” By design, the menu focuses on the hamburger, as it should, because this one was worth the drive.
The choices are single or double, cheese or no cheese. Condiment options are pickle and a slice of raw onion. If you request pickle, watch closely what happens. You’ll witness something you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else in America. The grillman takes a whole dill pickle and hand slices five or six pieces and neatly arrays them on a waiting steamed bun. The same happens for a slice of onion, sliced in a worn groove on the butcher block in front of the griddle. Nothing is presliced.
A pan of high-quality, fresh ground round sits to the left of the small flattop griddle. The grillman takes a guesstimated quarter-pound wad of the fresh beef and swiftly forms it into a patty, and it hits the griddle with an audible splat. The griddle only holds 18 burgers at a time, so expect to wait for a stool during peak times. Eli told me that during the summer, the line can go out the door and down the street. “When it’s busy, we are behind all the time.”
Hudson’s serves what could be considered a nearly perfect burger. Relish the moment and plot your return because you’ll be forever changed. The simplicity of the elements and the burger’s ideal proportions will win your heart (and stomach).
One unique feature of the burger experience at Hudson’s is a proprietary “spicy ketchup” that locals and regulars put on their burgers. Fair warning: this stuff is HOT and looks like regular ketchup in its traditional squirt bottle. Todd explained that the ketchup was invented not for culinary reasons but for economic ones. “During the Depression, some people would come in and load up their burgers with ketchup to stretch the meal.” Todd’s grandfather added fiery spice to discourage the practice. Over 70 years later, Hudson’s still does not offer the classic red stuff.
Today, brothers Todd and Steve Hudson run the historic burger counter. They each take a three-day shift and do their share of burger flipping. Burgers have not been the sole passion of the Hudson family, though. Their proximity to the lake has led to a lifetime on the water. Great-grandfather Harley flipped burgers in the early part of the century, but also owned a steamboat that he rented for excursions on the lake. During the decade that speedboat racing was allowed on the lake, it was the Hudson family’s unofficial job to set up the racecourse markers. When you have finished your burger at Hudson’s, wander into the back of the restaurant, where you’ll find one of the most impressive collections of hydroplane racing ephemera and memorabilia anywhere.
A few years ago, a McDonald’s Express opened four doors down from Hudson’s and it lasted only two years. Seems as though the fast-food empire was no match for a 100-year-old burger institution. Todd told me that people would ask if they could go buy McDonald’s fries and eat them with their burger at Hudson’s. He repeatedly told them, “Sure, as long as you bring enough for everybody.”
“The secret is our longevity,” Todd explained as he smiled and shrugged. In 2007, that longevity was recognized when the state of Idaho issued a proclamation to honor the Hudson family for a hundred years of business. 100 years of great burger making is definitely cause for celebration.
10
ILLINOIS
The Goat enjoys a beer with Billy Goat Sianis and his nephew Sam.
BILLY GOAT TAVERN & GRILL
430 N. MICHIGAN (LOWER LEVEL) | CHICAGO, IL 60611
312-222-1525 | WWW.BILLYGOATTAVERN.COM
OPEN DAILY 6 AM–2 AM
The Billy Goat is responsible for one of the most famous lines in hamburger history, delivered by John Belushi on Saturday Night Live on January 28, 1978. But the Goat is more than just “Cheezborger! cheezborger! No Pepsi, Coke! No fries, cheeps.” The Goat is steeped in history, so much that it makes you wish you were a Chicagoan, and probably makes many Chicagoans proud. All this from a tavern opened in 1934 by Greek immigrant William “Billy Goat” Sianis.
No one is really sure if the Billy Goat got its name from the far-fetched story of how a goat wandered into the bar one day and becam
e a mascot/pet, or if the name came from the gray goatee Sianis sported, but the nature of its origins is part and parcel of all stories emanating from the Goat. The famous “Curse of the Billy Goat” was also dreamed up by Sianis, a curse that has endured and still exists today: a curse that has spiritually kept the beloved Chicago Cubs out of the World Series for over 65 years despite Sianis’s nephew Sam’s attempts to “remove” it. And it’s all because the media-friendly tavern owner and his smelly goat were denied entry to the 1945 World Series.
The history of the Goat, carried on today by Sam Sianis and his son, Bill (Billy Goat Jr.), along with the 8x10 glossies of past newspapermen who drank and debated there and the bizarre subterranean location, actually add a different type of flavor to the burger. The Goat has what I like to call the “whole burger experience”—it’s not just about the burger. It includes the place you are eating it, and who you are eating with.
The “cheezborgers” at the Billy Goat start as fresh beef that is machine pattied into quarter pound slivers. “Triple much better!!” is the call you are likely to hear as the countermen take your order. Just try and order a single cheeseburger. A “Sosa” is four patties, named after the home run king of the Cubs. There really are no fries so don’t even ask. You remember the call “No fries, cheeps, no Coke, Pepsi!” They actually do have Coke, no Pepsi; Belushi flipped that in the skit. You dress your own burger with onions and specially made pickle slices, then take a seat at the bar, one of the longest I’ve ever seen. There are so many things to look at that it would take days to read all of the clippings and photo captions. Not a problem here, since the Goat is open every day, 20 hours a day.
Probably every old hamburger joint has its share of stories and lore, but none wears it on its sleeve like the Billy Goat. There are so many stories to hear that you’ll have to go there and ask Sam or Bill yourself. I’m sure they’d be glad to tell a few—ask about the butter on the ceiling, or the goat that ate the $20 bill.
CHARLIE BEINLICH’S FOOD & TAP
290 SKOKIE BLVD | NORTHBROOK, IL 60062
NO PHONE | WWW.CHARLIEBEINLICHS.COM
TUE–SAT 11:30 AM–10:45 PM
CLOSED SUN & MON
There’s a sign behind the bar at Charlie Beinlich’s that says, “Business hours subject to change during fishing season,” and I believe them. This 60-year-old bar in the suburbs north of Chicago is filled with an impressive collection of mounted fish, most of them caught by Charlie himself. “Grandma caught that one,” third generation owner Linda Rainey told me, pointing to what looked like the largest in the collection. Her father, John Barnes, who retired after running Beinlich’s for over 30 years, is also a fisherman and can claim two of the large fish on the walls as well. John told me, “Charlie used to say, ‘The time you spend fishing doesn’t count against your lifespan.’” In his retirement, John spends a fair amount of time in Florida . . . fishing.
Linda recently assumed ownership of the bar with her husband, Tom. “He [Tom] got this place the same way I did,” John joked loudly sitting at the bar, “the old fashioned way: he married the boss’s daughter!” The bigger-than-life former owner married Charlie’s daughter, Karen, and helped run the business side-by side with him. Over the decades virtually nothing has changed at Charlie Beinlich’s. “We added an ATM and switched to a soda gun from canned soda,” John told me. “That’s about it.”
The interior of Charlie Beinlich’s looks more Northwoods tavern than suburban hangout. The long bar sports 13 very comfortable stools and the dining area is a sea of no-nonsense black tables. The place is spotless and attracts a slightly older crowd that come for Bleinlich’s famous shrimp cocktail and of course, the burgers. Families and kids are welcome but Beinlich’s offers no booster seats. “We have phone books and duct tape for the kids,” Tom pointed out. The servers all wear white oxford shirts and crisp maroon aprons that have their names embroidered on them. They can be seen rushing through the packed dining room with up to five burger plates up their arms.
Burgers were introduced to Beinlich’s customers a few years after Charlie opened the place. “He used to give food away,” John told me. “He’d have big platters of cold cuts out.” Tom told me there used to be a sign near the bar that stated simply, “Food is served for the convenience of our customers drinking alcoholic beverages.” Eventually, a kitchen was constructed off the back of the bar and a booming burger business was born.
There’s only one burger to order and your choices are with or without cheese, Swiss, American, or cheddar. Lettuce and onion are available but you’ll have to forgo the tomato. In the half-century that Beinlich’s has been serving burgers not one has ever seen a tomato and probably never will. If you ask for a “deluxe” burger you’ll get coleslaw and fries on the side, and longtime customer Jeff Goldman told me, “I put the coleslaw on the burger.” Slow-cooked and very tasty sautéed onions are also available.
The beef for the burgers is, as John described it, “a sirloin and chuck combo, supposedly,” and is amazing. It comes to them daily, ground in bulk from a supplier that they have worked with for decades called Lakeside Foods in Winnetka, Illinois. There’s a huge sign behind the bar proudly declaring this. As John explained, “It’s just a local grocery store and sometimes they deliver twice a day.” In the early seventies John switched from hand-pattying to pressing the patty and purchased a patty maker. “I wanted a third-pound burger but the guy cut the mold too big,” John explained, leaving Beinlich’s with a burger that still today is something closer to a half pound.
As you’ve probably guessed at this point, there are a lot of great signs to read at Beinlich’s. One of my favorites hangs just inside the front vestibule and says, “No tank tops, muddy boots.” The suburban setting and mall across the street are hardly the place to find hungry burger-seekers wearing muddy boots so there had to be a story. As construction began nearby on what was the first expressway out of Chicago in 1950, workers would naturally find their way to Beinlich’s. “They were building the Edens when this place opened,” Linda told me. “My grandmother wanted to have none of that.” Although the Edens Expressway has been finished for over half a century the rule is still enforced.
Charlie is long gone but one of his more curious legacies remains. On the bar you’ll find little wooden red birdhouses with HADLEY SCHOOL FOR THE BLIND printed on their sides. You can make a donation to a charity that has been the been the recipient of loose change dropped into these boxes for well over 50 years. “Charlie was deathly afraid of going blind,” John explained.
Charlie Beinlich’s future looks strong even though John joked, “When I die, Linda’s selling the place!” Linda and Tom have two girls and no intention to sell. Linda told me, “We hope they’ll want to take over the business.” Their future husbands may get to own Beinlich’s too, the old fashioned way.
GRANT’S WONDERBURGER
11045 SOUTH KEDZIE AVE | CHICAGO, IL 60655
773-238-7200 | MON–SAT 10:30 AM–8 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
When the first version of this book came out I started getting e-mails from fans that were driving around the country trying to visit all the burger joints in the book. One of those fans was Larry Hodek from just outside of Chicago who was eating his way across America. In a long, handwritten letter to me he voiced his concern that I didn’t include his hometown favorite. I have to admit, the burger joint he was talking about was not even on my radar. It was so far south of downtown Chicago that everyone I had asked had never heard of the place. But it doesn’t take much for me to try a new burger so thank you, Larry, for leading me to this classic gem.
First you’ll see the sign. The absurdly oversized sign dwarfs the façade of the building and can be seen from blocks away. Across the street is a Burger King and owner Karen McCormick told me, “It has been there for 30 years and has not affected our business.”
The interior is a mix of 50 years of decorating style with faux-Tiffany stained glass pendant lamps overhe
ad, bent wood café chairs, and green checked floor tile. Green topped swivel stools line a green Formica counter and the walls are wood paneled trimmed with, you guessed it, green.
Karen, wearing peace symbol earrings, is a feisty piece of work. She has a few employees that make change and such but Karen is a powerhouse and seems to fill all of the orders that come in. “I do it all, baby,” she told me as she jumped from fryer to griddle. She bought Grant’s Wonderburger in 1988 from her father-in-law, Bill Grant, who was looking to retire. Bill opened the restaurant in 1958 after working at the long-gone Superburger on Stoney Island Avenue, another Southside favorite. Bill wanted to emulate the burger that he knew so well and with Superburger’s blessing opened his own burger joint and changed the name slightly. (The owner, Moose Bowen, even came over to flip the first Wonderburger and Bill was on his way.) The restaurant moved three times, all within a block or two, with the last move in 1969 to a location directly across the street. Karen told me that Bill and a few employees even dragged the counter across the street late one night.