by George Motz
To sit and watch the grillman at work is a treat. He stands in front of a smallish recessed griddle that has room for 60 of the aromatic sliders for which the Cozy has become famous. A steam cloud envelops his head as he flips row after row of the small onion-covered burgers. The cloud fills the tiny restaurant with an aroma so thick your eyes will tear and make your clothing smell for days. It’s an oniony goodness that once saturated thousands of burger stands just like the Cozy Inn from the 1920s to the 1950s. Today Cozy is one of only a handful of its kind still in operation.
So now you’re thinking, can I get a slider without onions? No. For over 80 years the same sliders have been sold at Cozy. If you don’t like onions, you won’t like their burgers. But if you do, you’ll be in heaven. A burger “all the way” comes with ketchup, mustard, pickle, and a pile of steam-cooked onions. Today you can choose any combination of these condiments, but in the old days you had no choice—a burger at the Cozy came “all the way” and that was that. And for all of these decades, cheese has never graced a burger at Cozy, so don’t even ask. “It’s amazing how many people come in here and ask for a cheeseburger,” former manager Nancy Durant once told me, “even though we have ‘no cheese’ signs everywhere.” No fries either. Grab a bag of chips at the counter.
The burgers are small, so order a bunch. A familiar call from a customer might be, “A sack and a pop, please,” which is local vernacular for, “six sliders and a soda to go.”
“We roll our own meat here,” Nancy said, referring to the one-ounce wads of fresh bull beef that make up a Cozy slider. The tiny stand will go through 500 pounds of onions and an incredible 1,000 pounds of meat a week. “On our 80th anniversary we sold 8,800 burgers in three days,” Nancy boasted. The buns, soft and pillowy, are made especially for the Cozy Inn and come all the way from Missouri.
For the first time in almost 90 years a second Cozy Inn location is opening. The lucky college town of Manhattan, Kansas will soon be able to indulge in a sack and and a pop.
On my first visit to the Cozy Inn, I was walking out, reeking of onions, and an older woman on her way in stopped me and excitedly asked, “Was it as good as you remembered?” Now that’s the kind of sentiment the Cozy deserves.
JACK’S NORTH HI CARRYOUT
603 WEST 13TH ST | WICHITA, KS 67203
316-264-2644 | MON–SAT 10 AM–7 PM
When I learned that Jack’s had sold I panicked. During research for this book I had visited the vintage 1950s Wichita burger joint, ate their double cheeseburger, and was thoroughly satisfied. I called to speak to Jack’s new owner Austin Herron just to find out how things were going and if he had planned to keep things the same. “Well, we opened today and just served my first customer,” he told me. I almost dropped the phone and said, “So why are you talking to me!” Austin had much more important things to do.
Austin, who is only 25, somehow possesses the notion that some old things are good things, a trait that few twentysomethings have. With the help of his grandmother he was able to buy Jack’s at auction. “She knows I’m a hard-working person and she liked my business plan.” Fortunately, the only changes he made were for the better.
Jack Robards opened the tiny burger stand in 1951 in an absolutely brilliant location—directly across the street from the enormous North Senior High School. For decades, students have made the short walk and lunched at Jack’s. After Jack, the burger joint was passed to Nola Behan, who ran Jack’s for over 30 years. In 2007 the restaurant had a catastrophic fire and closed its doors. A year later a man named Joe Moore, whose dream it was to own a vintage burger joint, bought the burned-out restaurant and put everything he had into its rebirth. When it opened in 2009 regulars were happy to see that Jack’s was back, but 7 months later Joe suffered a massive heart attack at the restaurant and died. Joe’s wife ran Jack’s in her husband’s absence but her heart was not in it. She put the restaurant up for sale and eventually, at auction, the young Austin became the owner.
Austin has actually made Jack’s better. He switched from using one-sixth-pound patties to quarter-pounders and got rid of the frozen fries. “We now have fresh-cut fries, no frozen,” he told me. The burgers are still made the way Jack did it 60 years ago. A flat patty of fresh ground chuck is slapped on the flattop and sprinkled with a handful of diced onion. The onion is pressed into the patty and cooks into the burger. Soft white buns are toasted on the griddle with butter and the burger is served with lettuce, pickle, ketchup, and mustard. Cheese, jalapeños, bacon, and chili are also available.
North High lets out for lunch around noon on weekdays and the Jack’s is instantly mobbed with students. “The people that live around here know not to come then,” Austin told me. “The old timers and regulars know to come after one o’clock.”
Seating at Jack’s is mostly limited to counters along the big picture windows that look out onto 13th Street and North High. In warmer months, take a seat at a picnic table outside. Also, check out the beautiful hand-painted menu board over the grill. Don’t get your hopes up, though. Twenty-five cent hamburgers are a thing of the past. The sign hails from the early days of the burger stand and depicts a mountain scene with teepees (North High’s teams are the Redskins).
I asked Austin why he bought an old burger joint and he told me, “It was something I had been looking for. I wanted to buy the burger place near my old high school but it was long gone.” Owning a Wichita tradition near a rival high school will have to do.
We owe thanks to Austin for having the foresight to own and operate a place with strong ties to the past. This is not an easy venture, but I’m glad he’s young and willing to take Jack’s into the future.
NUWAY CAFE
1416 WEST DOUGLAS AVE | WICHITA, KS 67203
316-267-1131 (4 OTHER LOCATIONS IN WICHITA)
WWW.NUWAYCAFE.COM
OPEN DAILY 10:30 AM–9 PM
When we rolled into Wichita looking for burgers I was shocked when we came across the NuWay Cafe. I know a lot about regional burgers in America and where these microcosms exist. I’m also pretty familiar at this point with how far certain burger trends have traveled, but most crazy ideas usually remain within the city limits. The Jucy Lucy has not gone much further than a handful of burger joints in Minneapolis, the steamed cheeseburg only exists in the geographic center of Connecticut, and as far as I know you can only find a Cuban Frita on Calle Ocho in Miami. So when expert burger taster Kris Brearton and I plopped down at the counter at NuWay, we found that the loosemeat phenomenon of Iowa may have found its way to Kansas.
Of course, the loosemeat sandwich is not really a hamburger. I put Taylor’s Maid-Rite in this book as a fine example of where to find the sandwich, a sort of deconstructed burger. All of the elements for a great burger are there—the soft white bun, fresh ground beef, pickles, mustard, and onion. But the beef, instead of being a patty, is crumbly and moist. It’s a sort of Sloppy Joe without the sloppy part and it’s heavenly.
At NuWay, they call them “Crumblies,” or the “Crumbly Sandwich.” The menu lists them as the “Original,” and I’ve also heard them referred to as simply “NuWays.” Whatever you decide to call them they come in various sizes and configurations at NuWay. The traditional size is the large, which is around a third of a pound of super-moist, crumbled meat that has been scooped by a spatula into a soft white bun and served with pickle, onion, and mustard. The amount of meat you’ll find in a NuWay varies but usually in your favor. “It’s a very unscientific method,” owner Neal Stong said of the amount that gets scooped into a NuWay. “We try to overserve rather than underserve.”
Neal did not open the first NuWay in Wichita but he is certainly the protector of this Wichita tradition. In 1930, Tom McEvoy opened the first NuWay on Douglas Avenue after leaving a partnership behind in Iowa of (you guessed it) a new concept called the Maid-Rite sandwich. In search of warmer weather he headed south and settled on Wichita. He found a potato patch to lease just east of downtown for 25 dollars a mont
h and built the location that still exists today. McEvoy brought with him his patented cooker for making the crumbly beef sandwich and guarded the process. People would try to get a glimpse of the cooker in action and according to local legend McEvoy would chase them out of the restaurant.
The cooker is still out of view and the process of making the NuWay sandwich kept a secret. “We only use high quality USDA ground beef but we have a secret grind,” Neal told me. And unlike the chain of Maid-Rites in Iowa and beyond (with the exception of Taylor’s in Marshalltown) the meat is not spiced. As Neal put it, “Tender love and care is the only thing we add. People think we put something in there but we don’t.”
The NuWay is similar to the Maid-Rite sandwich but actually beefier and definitely moister. “The fat is where the flavor is,” Neal told me. Some call it sauce, some call it grease, but in reality, the NuWay is so good because some of the fat is not drained off when you get your sandwich. “You can ask for it ‘light,’” said Neal, but the sauce, soaked into the soft bun, is where the flavor is.
In the beginning, NuWay only served NuWays, malts, and root beer. Today the menu has expanded greatly, but the core menu is still available. A regular at the counter named Vicki told me, “I’ve been coming here for 40 years and back then there was only NuWays on the menu.” Everything is made fresh in the restaurant, including the popular garlic salad (which is basically coleslaw spiked with garlic) and the homemade root beer.
Neal became a partner in the business in 1981 with Gene Friedman after buying out McEvoy’s widow, and Neal has owned NuWay on his own since the late 1990s. Under their leadership four new locations have been opened around Wichita and the original location has been kept intact. “It’s an icon,” Neal told me. “I see it as a museum. Other than a coat of paint we’re not going to change a thing.”
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LOUISIANA
BOZO’S
3117 21TH ST | METAIRIE, LA 70002
504-831-8666 | WWW.BOZOSRESTAURANT.COM
TUES–THU 11 AM–3 PM, 5 PM–9 PM
FRI–SAT 11 AM–3 PM, 5 PM–9:30 PM
CLOSED SUN & MON
Bozo’s is not the kind of place you’d expect to find a great burger. The restaurant is a destination for fresh oysters and excellent fried seafood and the burger is listed at the bottom of the menu. Southern food writer and friend, John T. Edge, led me to Bozo’s, calling their burger a “sleeper.” Nevertheless, Bozo’s has sold the same amazing hamburger po’boy (Louisiana vernacular for submarine or hero sandwich) for over 80 years.
Bozo’s sits in a fairly nondescript industrial neighborhood in Metairie, a half block from the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway. The low wooden building is set back from the street with a large parking lot in front. If you didn’t know what you were looking, for you’d drive right past. No ostentatious signage or loud neon here—just a small stained-glass window with the name Bozo’s subtly printed on it. The dining room is pure function, clean and well lit with wood-grain Formica tables and sturdy industrial seating. The only real decoration is a floor-to-ceiling mural of two fishing boats near a dock. “Those were two of my dad’s boats,” former second-generation owner and septuagenarian chef Chris Vodanovich pointed out to me.
Yugoslavian immigrant Chris “Bozo” Vodanovich Sr. opened Bozo’s Oyster House on St. Ann Street in New Orleans in 1928. At one point, Bozo had a fleet of eight boats to service the needs of his restaurant. Fresh oysters, shrimp, and catfish were the reasons most locals patronized the tiny restaurant, but from the beginning, Bozo offered a hamburger po’boy as an alternative to seafood.
The burger at Bozo’s is a combination of over 80 years of experience, a proprietary mixture of meat and onions, and a twist on a regional specialty—the po’boy sandwich. Among those for whom the perfect po’boy is a passion, it is understood that the bread used is as important as what goes on it. Because of this Chris uses only the best—French bread from Leidenheimer Bakery, an institution in New Orleans for over 100 years.
I asked Chris how big the burger was and he didn’t know. “We just make them to fit the bread,” he told me, smiling. The bread is not small, making this hamburger po’boy a filling meal. The fresh ground beef has onions and “other spices” mixed in before being hand pattied and cooked on a flattop griddle. The combination of the perfectly cooked burger and the pillowy bread makes for a great regional hamburger experience.
Chris inherited Bozo’s and moved his father’s business out of downtown New Orleans to Metairie in 1979 because, as he put it, “the neighborhood was gettin’ rough.” The Metairie location was expanded to accommodate 120 diners in two dining rooms separated by a large bar.
Today, Bozo’s is owned and run by Mark and Susan Fayard, but Chris still comes in to visit. “He’s here at least three times a week,” Susan told me, and added with a laugh. “We can’t get rid of him!”
While I talked to Chris, every patron said “Thanks, Mr. Chris” as they paid their tabs and left. He speaks with a gentle Louisiana twang and has piercing blue eyes and wavy grey hair. I asked him “Why Bozo?” “In the old country, Bozo was the word for Christ,” he told me, “and my name is Chris.”
PORT OF CALL
838 ESPLANADE AVE | NEW ORLEANS, LA 70116
504-523-0120
WWW.PORTOFCALLNEWORLEANS.COM
SUN–THU 11 AM–MIDNIGHT | FRI & SAT 11 AM–1 AM
Port of Call is a bar and restaurant that sits on the far northeast end of the French Quarter in New Orleans. I say this because when people tell you this place is in the Quarter your thoughts first go to drunken tourists with their souvenir hurricane glasses, lame strip clubs, and big-ass beers. Not so here. Port of Call is on the other end of the quarter, in a quiet, beautiful neighborhood.
The building Port of Call calls home dates back to the turn of the century, where it started as a sailor bar. Over the years it went from grocery store to tavern and then opened as a steakhouse in 1962. Burger sales one day eclipsed the steak, and today Port of Call is the most popular (and best) burger destination in New Orleans.
The decor is comfortably nautical and has dark wood floors, wood walls, wood tables, and a wood bar. The entire ceiling is a web of sisal rope and the whole place feels like it might start rocking with the tide.
There are four burger choices—Hamburger, Cheeseburger, Mushroom Burger, and Mushroom Cheeseburger. It’s the Mushroom cheeseburger that keeps them coming back.
Port of Call grinds its own sirloin and forms burgers into eight-ounce patties. The burgers are char-grilled and served on a bun that seems too small for the amount of meat provided. In order to make the patty fit, the burger is a tall, inch-and-a-half-thick, perfectly cooked fist of meat. The cheese is shredded cheddar and the mushrooms are sautéed in wine, butter, and garlic and melt in your mouth. It looks like a mess when it arrives at your spot at the bar (or at one of the many tables in two dining rooms) but is actually easy to handle once you get going.
Port of Call was spared major damage during the devastating Hurricane Katrina in 2005. “The flooding stopped two blocks that way,” general manager of over thirty years Mike Mollere told me, pointing north. “We were extremely fortunate and had little damage. After the neighborhood opened back up, I just turned the key and we were open for business.” Mike followed his post-hurricane opening by serving first responders and the press.
I arrived at Port of Call just before opening, hoping to beat the crowds. No such luck. By the time the ancient, windowless wood doors were unlatched there were over 20 people waiting on the sidewalk to get their mushroom burger fix. “It’s like that every morning,” Mike said, shaking his head. I took a spot at the bar and watched as the restaurant filled almost to capacity with an additional 50 hungry tourists, locals, and construction workers. Within ten minutes the Port of Call was transformed from an empty, dark bar into a bustling, lively hot spot. Mike pointed out that they have the best jukebox in town. “Hey, where else can you hear Zappa on a jukebox?”
1
5
MAINE
HARMON’S LUNCH
144 GRAY RD | FALMOUTH, ME 04105
207-797-9857 | MON–FRI 10:30 AM–3 PM
SAT 11 AM–7 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
My first question for owner Pete Wormell was a dumb one—I asked, “Why Harmon’s Lunch?” Through a thick monotone Maine accent he told me, “We’re only open for lunch.” Even though this tiny burger spot in Maine is open for only four and a half hours a day, they still manage to sell over 80,000 burgers a year.
Amazingly, Pete knows exactly how many burgers he sells every year because he jots down the day’s total on a calendar. When I asked him why, he said, “I’m weird, I guess.” You can ask him how many he sold on any day in the last decade and he’ll be able to tell you. “Look,” he said, pointing to the calendar, “We only sold 144 that day because of snow.”
Pete and friend Cliff bought Harmon’s in 1995 from Marvin Harmon, who was looking for the right people to buy the place. “I blame him,” Pete said, pointing at Cliff, who was working the grill. Cliff had seen an ad in the paper that the restaurant was for sale. He has since sold his portion to Pete, who joked, “We’re still friends part-time.”
Marvin built the small wood-frame burger joint in 1960. Today, not much has changed, but Pete started an impressive collection of vintage Maine dairy bottles that line the walls. It’s a collection that is rooted in his family’s dairy past.