Hamburger America

by George Motz

  Grant’s burgers come to the restaurant as fresh, pre-formed patties five to the pound. They are thin and wide and cook very fast on the seasoned flattop griddle. The burger to get is the “Double Wonderburger Basket,” which comes with American cheese, grilled or sliced onion, shredded lettuce, and the super-secret Wonder Sauce. The burger is presented on a toasted white squishy, wrapped in waxed paper, and served in a green basket full of their famous curly-q fries. I asked Karen what was in the Wonder Sauce and she replied quickly, “It’s a secret.” I can tell you, though, that it was great, and was basically a tangy, sweet, red relish.

  The fries are a big draw at Grant’s Wonderburger. On some days Karen can go through a few hundred pounds of potatoes to make the curly-q fries. When an order comes in, she grabs a handful of fresh-cut ribbons of potatoes from a bin and tosses them into the deep fryer. I swear I pulled a curled fry out of my basket that when stretched out was no less than a foot long. I also noticed (too late) that the curly-q fries can be ordered with melted cheddar. Could there be a better side dish?

  As you scarf down your Wonderburger, take a look at the walls around you. Then take a look at the full name of the restaurant. The menu and enormous sign out front bill the place as GRANT’S GRILL & GALLERY. The gallery that covers the walls features local artists and their Chicago-centric subjects. The art is for sale and ranges from rudimentary to the bizarre. One strange phantasmagorical painting depicts a woodland scene with fully uniformed hockey players (Chicago Blackhawks?) hitting the puck around a frozen creek. In the distance is a Native American standing on the ice in traditional feathered garb watching, possibly looking to join in. “I think Bill did it just to cover the walls for free,” Karen told me. “Some of it is good, some weird.”

  Make your way down to the far south side neighborhood of Mt. Greenwood and look for the oversized Wonderburger sign. Get a classic burger with a “secret” sauce and bite into a piece of Chicago history that few in Chicago have actually heard about. You will come away with a better appreciation of old Chicago, and maybe some art too.

  HACKNEY’S ON HARMS

  1241 HARMS RD | GLENVIEW, IL 60025

  847-724-5577 | WWW.HACKNEYS.NET

  SUN–THU 11 AM–10 PM | FRI & SAT 11 AM–11 PM

  Before there were suburbs, there was Hackney’s. “There was nothing out here in the beginning,” third generation owner Mary Welch told me. Hackney’s sits way back from Harms Road on a lush, tree-filled piece of property. Across the street is a large forest preserve. It still sort of feels like the middle of nowhere, but drive a few hundred feet in either direction and you’ll find yourself in the center of Chicago’s suburban sprawl.

  The history of Hackney’s is so complicated that Mary actually drew a chart for me on the back of a paper placemat. Here is the abridged version. In the ’20s, Helen and Jack Hackney converted the back patio of their home into an illegal prohibition-era bar that served burgers. “It was so deserted out here that they thought they’d make money on booze,” Mary explained. Eventually, the Hackneys moved the business from their backyard to a barn-like structure opposite the house. “We’re not really sure what it was,” Mary told me. “Maybe a chicken coop or a barn.” In 1939, Mary’s father, Jim Masterson, who was Helen’s nephew, and her mother, Kitz, purchased Hackney’s for $1 and endured the slow war years with business being fueled by soldiers from a World War II POW camp in the forest preserve across the street. When the war ended, the suburbs exploded and Hackney’s was suddenly surrounded by hungry families. “There were mostly German bars here then,” Mary explained, “and this was the first real family place.” It was a mixed blessing, however. Thanks to new residential zoning after the war Hackney’s was not able to expand the restaurant on the property. In 1955, Jim and Kitz were turning away 100 people a day. Their solution? They opened a second Hackney’s just down the street.

  When the Mastersons assumed ownership of Hackney’s they introduced a burger to the menu that remains today—the “Hackneyburger.” This North Suburbs classic is unique to the burger world because, since day one, it has been served on dark rye. And not just any dark rye, homemade dark rye prepared daily in Hackney’s own bakery. “Originally, my parents made the bread at home,” Mary told me, in the house that sits just opposite the restaurant. The bread is soft and sweet, not what you’d expect from dark bread. In fact, it’s so soft that it has a tendency to disintegrate quickly thanks to the juicy eight-ounce burger that it cradles.

  The Hackneyburger

  The Hackneyburger comes unadorned, with lettuce and tomato on the side. Onions are available, and if you ask for them grilled, you’ll get an entire onion’s-worth on the side. Cheese choices are American, Swiss, and cheddar. The half-pound burger, kept thick, is cooked on a flattop griddle and can be prepared to the temperature of your choice. Hackney’s used to buy ground beef from a local butcher and Mary’s parents would hand-patty the burgers daily using a coffee cup as a mold. They eventually purchased a patty machine, and one day gave the patty machine to their butcher. That butcher, who has been supplying Hackney’s since the beginning, is now the sole provider of hamburger patties to the six Hackney’s locations in the Chicago area. “That’s all he does for a living, makes burgers for all the Hackney’s,” Mary told me.

  No visit to Hackney’s would be complete without trying one of their signature sides, the french fried onions. It arrives as a deep-fried brick of thin-sliced onions fused with fried batter standing tall at about 7 inches. It’s an impressive presentation and was invented by a cook at Hackney’s in 1962. In an effort to placate a customer who had missed out on the perch one fish fry Friday, a cook named Carmen tossed a handful of battered onions into the deep fryer and invented a new side dish. The concoction emerged whole, in the shape of the fryer basket, and to this day is still served as a block of deep-fried goodness on a plate.

  Not surprisingly, Hackney’s has a great selection of German beers on tap and a solid bar lined with substantial leather-topped stools. The bar is carpeted, quiet and dark, even on bright, sunny days. I could see myself passing many hours there. The small dining room is also clean, dark, and cozy and a young, cute server told me, “It kind of reminds me of a cozy Wisconsin bar.” Me too, but Hackney’s is even cozier than what I’ve seen in Wisconsin. Across the parking lot, behind the original house, Hackney’s also operates a patio that seats 200 in the warm months.

  “It hasn’t really changed since my parents were here,” Mary told me, which is a good thing because everything seems to work just fine. Mary is one of seven children, all of whom are partners in the business and separately manage the six Hackney’s in the area. Mary has the shortest commute though, a short walk across the parking lot from the family home she grew up in. “I’m not complaining,” she told me with a smile.

  MOONSHINE STORE

  6017 EAST 300TH RD

  MOONSHINE (MARTINSVILLE), IL 62442

  618-569-9200

  MON–SAT 6 AM–1 PM, GRILL CLOSES AT 12:30

  CLOSED SUNDAY & MAJOR HOLIDAYS

  The Moonshine Store is one of those places you hope no one finds out about. I never would have known about the Moonburger if I had not seen a clip on CBS Sunday Morning calling it the “Best Burger in America.” A claim like that makes me a skeptic from the start but naturally my interest was piqued. I had all but written the place off when I just happened to be in the neighborhood. Believe me, this is not an easy thing to do. Thanks to Ryan Claypool, a resident of nearby Marshall, Illinois, I was coaxed into giving the Moonburger a shot.

  The Moonshine Store is at a crossroads in east central Illinois surrounded by cornfields. The drive to Moonshine (population two) is a blur of cornstalks and soybean fields for hours on two-lane roads and the nearest city is Terre Haute, Indiana. There’s a reason the lines are not out the door with city people—it’s too damn far away. But it’s true; the Moonshine does make one of the best burgers in America.

  The large country-store-turned-burger-spot does
a brisk business regardless of its remote locale. There are no tables inside, just recycled church pews and chairs that line the counters and cases. You place an order at the back of the store and when your burger is ready, you take it to the bountiful condiment table in the center of the room. If you can’t find a spot on a pew, there is ample seating out back at the picnic tables.

  The staff is a sight to behold—a bevy of chatty country women all taking turns at the grill and register. “I don’t work here, I’m just helping today,” laughed one behind the counter. Helen Tuttle, owner and grillmaster, explained, “Friends and family all come down for the lunch hour to help out. When we’re busy we’ll even ask someone in the store to do dishes—we’re not bashful.”

  The Moonburger is a beauty: pure and simple, 80/20-ground chuck cooked on a hot gas griddle until moist inside with a delicately crunchy exterior. I asked what the size of the burger was and Helen told me, “All sizes. Depends on what my hand grabs.” They look to be around a third of a pound and served on an untoasted, white squishy bun. Cheese is treated like a condiment and tossed on cold. Trust me—this burger needs no cheese.

  The three new gas griddles can hold up to 150 burgers, which is an improvement over the previous electric griddle that only held fifteen. “We can sell 50 to 600 burgers a day depending, and at least 400 on a Saturday,” Helen told me. Many motorcycle tours make the Moonshine a destination for burgers every year, and one visit on April 8, 2010 resulted in a new record. “We made 1908 that day.” Helen once told me, “We do no advertising. I believe the Lord has a hand in this business.” Believe it. These burgers are touched by something.

  TOP NOTCH BEEFBURGER SHOP

  2116 WEST 95TH STREET | CHICAGO, IL

  773-445-7218 | MON–FRI 8 AM–8 PM

  SAT 7:30 AM–8:30 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY

  I was tipped off to Top Notch by a friend in Chicago who is a key grip in the film business, the same friend, incidentally, who told me about Mr. Beef on North Orleans (for which I am eternally grateful). This is definitely the kind of spot you need to be tipped off to because it is very far from downtown Chicago. In fact it’s about 25 minutes by car south of the Loop in a neighborhood called Beverly. The journey to Top Notch is worth it because they make, without a doubt, one of the best burgers in Chicago.

  Top Notch has the standard-issue brown Naugahyde booths, fluorescent lighting, and wood paneling from the ’40s but takes it a step further to include Bob Ross–inspired oil paintings of soothing waterfalls and mountain scenes. The staff is extremely friendly and the menu lists true diner fare. The shakes, fries, and tuna sandwiches are all good, but the reason to visit Top Notch is of course for the “beefburgers.” They come in three sizes—the quarter pounder, the half-pound “King Size,” and the three-quarter-pound “Super King Size.” A deal breaker for me is the absence of fresh ground beef in a burger restaurant, so I always ask the question “fresh or frozen?” I was directed to the manager of 19 years, Sam Gomez, who, without asking for credentials, dragged me into the kitchen and into their small meat locker. There I was surrounded by the real thing—about five sides of beef and various cuts waiting for their turn in the grinder. Sam told me “our burgers are very fresh.” I had a hard time doubting him.

  The burgers are cooked on a large vintage cast-iron griddle in plain view of the counter patrons. They are griddled wide and flat, allowing more of the beef to have contact with the griddle surface. A favorite condiment is the grilled onions, so much so that burgers requested without onions still gather an onion essence. The bun is my favorite kind—white and squishy with sesame seeds, probably six inches across, toasted in the same upright conveyor toaster that Louis’ Lunch in New Haven uses. Sam describes the fries as “pre-WWII,” which I took to mean from a time before fries were frozen. Sure enough, there in the kitchen one employee had the task of gathering up fresh-cut fries that soak in cold water and bringing them to the fryer. The fries are excellent.

  I want to have a party there someday—the place is huge and can hold over a hundred hungry burger lovers. Bring your appetite and order at least the half pounder with cheese.

  11

  INDIANA

  HEINNIES

  1743 WEST LUSHER AVE | ELKHART, IN 46517

  574-522-9101 | WWW.HEINNIESRESTAURANT.COM

  MON–THU 10 AM–10 PM | FRI 10 AM–11 PM

  SAT 4:30 PM–11 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY

  Friend and food columnist Marshall King led me to this hamburger. He told me about a decades-old bar down by the train tracks in an industrial part of town that had been serving burgers forever—I was sold.

  When I first visited Heinnies, Bill DeShone, third-generation owner, was doing what his grandfather and father did for decades before him—he was walking around the dining room, greeting people, and checking on their food. “There’s always a family member here,” Bill told me, “whether it’s me or my brother.” It’s that kind of pride of place that keeps people loyal. That, and of course, a world-class hamburger.

  In the early 1950s, Henry “Heinnie” DeShone chose a spot for his tavern that was a bit remote for the residents of Elkhart. His new venture would be located across the street from one of the busiest railroad hubs in North America. “There was nothing else out here,” Bill explained, and told me that most of the clientele were railroad men. “It has always been a place where the working man could come get a burger, though back then it was a beer and a burger.” True to its roots, the area is still very industrial, though today the local industry is focused on motor home repair and manufacturing.

  When Heinnies opened in 1951, the lowceiled bar had a sign on the door prohibiting women (but by 1956 the sign was removed). A small dining room was added to the bar in 1983, and in 1996 a full renovation was completed. Bill’s younger brother, Troy, did the decorating and his obsession with NASCAR is apparent—the walls are lined with an impressive collection of American racing memorabilia.

  The menu is loaded with burgers, but the ones to focus on are the classic “Heinniecheeseburger” and the “Claybaugh.” The latter is a larger version of the classic that includes two one-third-pound patties and a wild pile of ingredients including, but not limited to, bacon, mushrooms, and four types of cheese. This one should be reserved for the truly starved. The burger is named after a local policeman and regular named Scott Claybaugh who, Bill explained, just like the burger, “is big and full of shit.” But it’s the Heinniecheeseburger that they come back for, a moderately priced, well-seasoned, great-tasting burger.

  Made from fresh-ground prime beef, the Heinniecheeseburger in its simplest form (no condiments, on a bun) is a taste explosion. That’s because of a not-so-secret ingredient included in the DeShone family burger recipe—chopped onions mixed into the beef. “We used to mix in bread crumbs and egg too,” Bill told m e , “It was sort of like a meat loaf.” But because the meat turned bad quickly, the DeShone family decided to stick with the basics—chopped onion, salt, and pepper.

  The meat for the Heinniecheeseburger comes from a local butcher, the same butcher Heinnies has been using forever. The butcher uses scraps from sirloin, filet, and strip steaks and grinds them for the restaurant. After the ground prime arrives, it is blended with chopped onion and pattied on an ancient family heirloom. The tool is a unique patty maker that presses the burgers one at a time to the proper thickness without forming the traditional cylindrically “squared” sides. The result is a patty with craggy edges that looks hand formed.

  Bill is slightly befuddled by a newfound group of fans who have discovered the decades-old tavern—the Amish. On Friday nights the back room is full of people from the nearby Amish communities of Nappanee and Shipshewana. Bill assumes that they are drawn to the restaurant by the huge, horse stable–themed dining room that was added in 1985 to the back of the restaurant called “Heinnies Back Barn.” Knotty pine frames each booth like a horse stall and vintage farm equipment lines the walls. “They come in by the vanload,” Bill told me. “Strawberry daiquir
is and steak for two!”

  The Heinniecheeseburger

  POWERS HAMBURGER SHOP

  1402 SOUTH HARRISON ST | FORT WAYNE, IN 46802

  260-422-6620 | MON–WED 5 AM–10 PM

  THU–SAT 5 AM–12 AM | CLOSED SUNDAY

  Powers is the real deal. Not unlike White Manna in New Jersey or The Cozy Inn of Kansas, Powers is a complete time-warp hamburger joint. You’ll be sent straight back to 1940 and a simpler time when the all-American slider was made with fresh-ground beef and your only option was with or without onions.

  I could smell Powers a block away as I approached old downtown Fort Wayne. Across the street from the beautiful, well-preserved Art Deco burger joint are two stately federal buildings. If you snapped a photo of the corner in black and white it may look identical to one that could have been taken in the ’40s—virtually nothing on this corner has changed.

  Onions are the name of the game at Powers. There’ll be no hiding the fact that you grabbed a few sliders here because the deep essence of steam-grilled onions will stick with your clothes for hours after. The bouquet of sweet onion wafts throughout the parking lot the minute you step out of your car.

  I was clearly the only non-local regular in the place the first time I visited. Two women ran the place—one named Sarah took orders and served pop and made change while the other managed the tiny, crowded flattop griddle. Country music played and both women sang along and knew every word. Sarah greeted each person that walked in the door by their first name and said, “Bye honey,” as they left.